


How Far We've Come

by thenightwingfan



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman Incorporated (Comics), Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightwingfan/pseuds/thenightwingfan
Summary: Damian Wayne is gone, killed in his fight against Heretic. Spiraling in his grief, Dick Grayson does the unthinkable.





	1. Prologue

He treads carefully, so as not to kick up sand, as he walks towards the pier. He's barefoot for the same reason and can feel the land give way as he sinks into the earth. This is alien to him. He hasn’t been to the beach in a long time - not since Damian… 

As he walks, the cool sand massages his aching feet. The waves crest and crash onto the shore. A seagull squawks in the distance. 

Everything is as it should be, and yet, nothing feels right. 

He can’t help but pause as he turns his attention to the darkened sky. The lights from the city have polluted it, eliminating the presence of bright stars. It is empty, dark, cold and unforgiving. 

It suits tonight’s occasion. 

A quick gust of cold air hits his back, grounding him and reminding him of his purpose here. 

He gazes up towards the pier and shoves away happy memories of enjoying the rides, getting powdered sugar from funnel cakes everywhere and watching street entertainers. He doesn’t feel the right to remember those. They don’t belong to him, not anymore, not after the decision he’s about to make.

The anxiety starts to creep into his bloodstream. His heart rate spikes and suddenly, the vast ocean landscape starts to distort. He takes a deep breath through his nose and holds it for a few seconds. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. He lets out a shallow sigh through his mouth. _Breathe goddamnit._ He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he can eventually feel his heart rate slow down to a reasonable level. 

This isn’t the time, he can’t be freaking out like this. He needs to be sharp.

This wasn’t going to be like last time. No, this time he had a plan. 

It’s as if weights drag him backward as he struggles to continue on, the exhaustion starts to set in, but he refuses to give up. One foot in front of the other, that’s all his mind focuses on. 

The slight bit of light shining off of the moon that has been illuminating his way starts to darken. It’s then when he realizes he’s made it. His decision sneaks around his lungs, slowly squeezing them and releasing, only to remind him of the power it holds over him and the air begins to feel tight. 

He squints into the darkness beneath the pier, searching for his purpose here. He takes a few steps back and glances back towards the way he came. 

The hair on the back of his neck starts prickling. He turns around slowly, unwilling to show his trepidation. There, by one of the posts supporting the weight of the wooden structure above them, a dark figure and the slight glint of metal. 

The figure watches him but doesn’t move. He hears the familiar sound of a gun cocking. 

He finds his voice. “I need your help.” 

The stranger hidden in the darkness steps out, his orange and black mask glinting in the night sky, and Deathstroke emerges, no longer a stranger. 

“Why Grayson, I thought you’d never ask,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be updated weekly :) If you enjoy, feel free to give feedback! Feedback is like crack for writers.


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Can’t repeat the past? Why, of course you can!” –The Great Gatsby_

He wakes up suddenly, trying to hold onto his dream for a moment longer. But the moment is fleeting and then he’s up. 

The details of the dream are only fragments in his mind and he can’t put them together enough to create a cohesive picture. All he’s certain of is that it was a good dream. He rubs his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Good dreams weren’t easy to come by these days and it always felt like a race against time as he chased the last grasp he had at them. 

He closes his eyes once more, trying to put together happy images in his mind. A streak of red hair, a flash of green eyes and that’s all it takes to make him force his eyes back open. 

“Dick, report to the control room.” 

Slade’s voice in his ear breaks through the foggy process of waking up. He’d neglected to take the earpiece out of his ear once he returned last night from his latest assignment. It had become a recent habit to leave the earpiece in. Removing it didn’t seem important; he gave up his right to privacy a long time ago. 

He guesses he should be grateful that Slade ruined his moment of peace. The last thing he needed at the moment was to dredge up the past. 

The past is colored with sour memories of a life filled with avoidable loss. 

He turns his head and looks at the clock beside him. It’s a quarter past five. Slade always woke early and expected him to do the same. He closes his eyes and remembers waking whenever he damn well pleased. He supposes that it’s just another thing he’ll have to live without. No sleeping in, the new Dick Grayson way of life. 

He sighs at his self-pity and sits up. Time to move on, no need to wallow. 

There’s no going back now and he’s better off for it. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

The jury’s still out on how well he’s handling recent events. But he likes to believe he’s moving past it; it’s all that keeps him sane.

His eyes shift to the door and his breath hitches. He lifts himself from his bed and exhales before leaving. A rush of cool air meets his face as he passes quiet labs and the large training room. 

The dark hallway suffocates Dick as he walks through the haunt. Relief comes as he takes a right and enters the brightly lit main control room. 

Slade pointedly looks at him from his seat and gestures for Dick to sit down. The steam coming from Slade’s coffee curls in the air and releases subtle notes of sweet cocoa. Dick can feel his stomach start to protest in hunger. 

Dick sits and waits for Slade to speak first, as was the routine of the last few months. Slade raises an eyebrow when he sees him still dressed in his field gear. Not willing to comment, Dick angles his head towards the table. 

Slade stops typing on the laptop for a moment and sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. 

Slade eyes him carefully. “You’re going to help me with a contract this weekend.” 

He nods slowly in response. 

“I want to make sure that you’ll be prepared to do what we have been practicing,” Slade gestures towards the untouched gun still strapped to the side of Dick’s thigh. 

Dick tilts his head slowly. “Who’s the target?”

“You should never assume that there’s only one target, Dick,” Slade says and shakes his head. 

Annoyance flashes across Dick’s face. 

“Sorry, who are the targets?” 

He takes a sideways glance down at the documents that lay close to Slade. Dick motions for Slade to slide them over. Once done, he opens the file up and glances at the papers.

He first sees a photo of a man. This man has wrinkles that are pressed deep into his face, which suggests that he’s well into the prime years of his life. He sort of looks like one of the men on Bruce’s board of trustees, like one of those guys that thinks all that matters in the world is money. The next few pages go into detail about his personal life, habits and other significant factoids. 

He flips forward a few pages and sees the second target. The woman has a stern look on her face and her hair is pulled into a tight bun. Gray streaks peak through the crown of her head; she looks relatively young, possibly mid-40s to early 50s. The rest of the file contains information about her personal life and financial information about the company she works for. 

“The targets are members of the executive board for Kord Industries,” Slade’s explains calmly. “For the past couple of years since their founding CEO’s disappearance, they have been secretly selling company secrets, profiting off of the company’s financial crisis and killing anyone who threatens to expose them.”

Dick interrupts. “Which is where we come in.”

Slade nods and continues, “Targets are both located in Metropolis, so now my question is: will you be able to handle this?”

“Slade, you and I both know that I’m more than ready.”

Dick slides back the documents with a bit of force. Slade’s composure holds, as it always does, and the familiar itch of defiance makes Dick’s hand clench underneath the table.

“Dick, I’m only trying to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable.” Dick scowls at the use of his name. “I’m doing my job.”

“Your comfort can be the difference between success and failure.” Slade catches Dick’s eyes. “Each kill has a purpose.”

An awkward silence passes between the two. Slade looks away from him and sighs. He glances back after Dick scoffs loudly. Slade raises an eyebrow. Dick can see Slade scan his body language and suddenly he’s hyper aware that his upper shoulders are taut with tension. 

He rolls his shoulders back. He’s aggravated but can’t place the exact reason as to why.

Slade stares at him expectedly. Dick came to Slade willingly, and ever since then, Dick’s been reveling in Slade’s difficulty trying to read him.

Dick looks down at his feet and takes a deep breath in.

Slade didn’t know the full story behind Dick’s motivation to join him; he only knew what Dick chose to share, but that didn’t stop Slade from trying to pry the answers out of him.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” Slade asks softly.

Dick makes a face. “No, Slade.”

“You like to think I don’t care about your well being, but I do. If you’re not ready for this, I don’t want to bring you in the field and risk you hurting yourself or jeopardizing my reputation.”

“No offense, sir,” Dick sneers, “but this isn’t about you. I came here because I knew you would teach me things that no one in my circle of friends would ever consider practicing.”

Dick’s voice gains volume with each breath. He can’t stop himself from continuing as his pace quickens.

“It’s not easy for me to think about taking a life but if I am ever going to be able to handle the kind of threats that attack my family on a daily basis, I’m going to need to be able to do the kind of things you can, even if no one understands that. I’m going to need you to treat me like an actual student and not like a CHILD!” 

The loud thud of his hand hitting the table causes him to stop. He just couldn’t-- wouldn’t let what happened last year ever to happen again. 

The chair screeches as Dick abruptly stands up from his chair. He walks to the door but he pauses. He takes a deep breath, turns around slowly and manages to say, “Sorry. I’ll be in the gym.”

Dick turns around and leaves.

It isn’t until dinner that Slade and Dick speak again.

Slade had gone out and met privately with the person who had hired them. Dick had been somewhat disappointed he hadn’t been asked to come along but also relieved that it gave him the chance to breathe. 

Dick walks into the dining room as Slade takes a seat at the table. Slade reaches towards his mask and removes it. Seemingly not paying much mind to Dick, he sets it down on the table and begins to eat.

The first portion of dinner is spent in silence. Dick’s fork scrapes against his plate as he pushes the peas on his plate into a corner towards his grilled chicken. He picks up his knife and absentmindedly cuts into his chicken. 

Slade had decided that Dick was too skinny, so he’d put Dick on a strict clean-bulk diet, which means bland protein and vegetables for every meal. 

To worsen matters, Wintergreen had taken a recent unscheduled leave, which left Slade in charge of their meals, hence the reason why Slade’s overcooked (and under seasoned) chicken sat on his plate. 

Eventually, Dick decides to break the silence. 

“When I first realized what I had to do, I tried everything to stop myself from coming to you,” Dick says.

Slade’s eye betrays his great interest; he sets down his fork and joins his hands together. 

“I’m surprised you’re telling me this.” 

Dick continues speaking like Slade had never spoken.

“I think it was after Jason died that I knew Bruce’s moral code wouldn’t be enough to protect us. That it wouldn’t be enough to protect anyone. But I ignored it because I believed in Bruce. But then, Jason came back and tried to kill everyone, and you know why he did that?” 

He doesn’t wait for a response and continues. 

“Well, partially because Ra’s and the Lazarus pit affected his mental state—at least at first.” Dick grips his fork tighter. “But he told me something, something that made me think. It was because Bruce didn’t avenge him even though time and time again, he had the chance. He didn’t want to violate his code even though God knows that clown deserves it.”

Dick lets the fork fall from his grasp. “I mean, what’s the point of having a code if you can’t protect your own family?” 

The air conditioning hums softly in the background. 

“You’ve been doing exceptionally well in the last few months,” Slade offers. 

Dick’s attention snaps directly to Slade. Confliction and determination burn within him as tries to separate his life before and his life now.

“I need you to teach me how to protect the ones I love.”

Slade’s eye narrows slightly. “You can’t protect everyone. People die and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”

“Fine then.” Dick opens his hands towards Slade. “Tell me how to avenge them.”

Slade looks down at his mask beside him. The lights above illuminate the black and copper that separate down the middle. He runs his fingers down the length of it. His lips tug into a small smile.

“I can do that, of course.” Slade begins to eat again. He pauses in between bites and says, “With this life, you make enemies, enemies who use your love for others against you. And Dick, your weakness is obvious to anyone who’s ever met you. You care far too much for your friends and people like me exploit that at every turn.”

Slade cuts another piece of chicken and raises it to his mouth. 

“Yeah, I know. You’ve already done that,” Dick comments coldly. “But I’m tired of living up to the standard of being a hero and losing people because of it.”

The older man pushes his plate in and reaches for his mask. He touches the cool metal and attaches the mask onto his face. Calmly, he moves his chair backward and stands up. 

“Well then,” Slade murmurs, “Let’s prepare for this weekend.”


	3. Two

Although the flight on Slade’s private jet had been very relaxed, Dick’s nervousness is palpable. They had decided to make the trip to Metropolis after a few days of meticulous planning. Slade and him had spent a full 24 hours just laying down the basic groundwork.

While reviewing the contract, Slade told him that the contract requires the death of the man to happen before the woman. 

But the woman’s death needs to occur within minutes of the man. That way, she would have time to hear what had become of her partner. The hope is that she’ll experience overwhelming fear and guilt before she gets taken out as well.

Dick wonders what exactly the woman did, in particular, to piss this person off so severely.

Although looking at her history, he can hardly blame them. Not only was she giving up company secrets, but she was also killing anyone who threatened to expose her. Five Kord employees had gone missing within the last three weeks, all under her direct orders -- according to Intel. One of those kills included a child after the employee’s car veered off the interstate and into a median with the child inside. 

She’s a killer. 

If Dick's honest with himself, the whole process is exhilarating. The thrill, terror and guilt are all quietly eating at Dick, and he doesn’t know what to make of it all. Is he really going to go through with it and take someone’s life? Is he capable of it? 

A sour taste starts to burn in his mouth.

He reminds himself, she’s a killer. 

Sitting in a temporary haunt in Metropolis makes him feel uneasy. After Slade contacted Luthor (Dick had strong objections at first), they discovered that Superman was off-world and wouldn’t be causing any issues. That fact alleviated some of Dick’s anxiety because he’ll avoid Clark’s disappointed stare. He had only seen it once directed at Bruce, but that was enough of that look to last him a lifetime. 

Dick shifts his attention down to the sniper rifle. The Win Mag’s an incredibly powerful weapon and over the last few months, he’s taken a liking to its sheer power. Its extreme accuracy, combined with that fact that it shoots with the ease of a laser, made it familiar and easy to handle. 

But that was when he aimed at robots, this time a real breathing human being would be the one in his scope. 

“I’m going to take care of the old man, think you can handle the woman?” Deathstroke glances at his apprentice. “Renegade?” 

“Huh? Oh, oh yeah I can do that,” Dick mutters as he tugs at his uniform. He’s still not used to the name change. 

“Focus.” 

“Yes sir,” Dick says, hiding the hot prick of annoyance.

It was Dick’s idea to create a new identity and that meant giving up his old name and uniform. Since joining up with Slade, he’d been comfortable wearing an all-black ensemble on outings. But now that he’s starting to aid in fulfilling contracts, Slade thought he needed something more “official.”

His first design resembled his Nightwing costume. Initially, he left out the blue bird on his chest and replaced it with a light gray. But Slade insisted that he add some of his orange to the uniform to signify that they were working together: a master and an apprentice. 

Not willing to argue he settled on a dark, copper-like orange that stretched across his chest in a vague outline of a bird. The bird signified something special to him, regardless of what side he was on.

He picks up his Win Mag and disassembles it and puts it into a medium-sized black case. The case is sized small enough that Dick can easily strap it across his back. Deathstroke has his sniper rifle already secured on his back and is patiently staring at Renegade.

“So am I gonna meet you there or are we going to hold hands?” Dick raises an eyebrow with the hint of a smile.

Slade’s mask covers his facial expression, but he turns away and starts to leave the haunt. 

“Be at the rendezvous point at 2300 sharp—unless of course you need me to hold your hand,” Slade retorts with a chuckle. 

Finding little amusement in Slade’s reply, Dick places his mask onto his face and steps out of the haunt.

\-----

“Do we have a confirmed sighting?”

“She just entered her apartment.”

They had been waiting in their positions for longer than expected. While Deathstroke’s target had returned home at his usual time, Renegade had been forced to wait for his. 

The file they had put together detailed each of the target’s schedules. She was supposed to be home an hour and a half ago. It was now nearing midnight. The timing meant everything and he isn’t about to mess his first real assignment up, so they had waited. But now it was time to pull the trigger and get the job done.

His earpiece had been silent for a few beats. He knows that means Deathstroke was about to make the kill. He never spoke before taking his shot.

Sweat beads along Dick’s hairline. He had set up the sniper rifle in range but he readjusts his position to make sure the shot will line up. Renegade stares at the women in the scope, as she walks into her living room and sits down. There are deep bags under her eyes and she stares blankly into a coffee cup that Dick assumes she’d left out earlier this morning. 

She kicks off her heels and picks up a picture frame and sighs. Renegade adjusts his view and focuses on the picture. A man held her on a beach somewhere. 

God, this woman would be dead in a few minutes. Clara Saberton, 48, no children, occasional lovers but had always been too career-focused to settle down, would be dead.

That’s the first time Dick thinks of her as a real person. A person with a name and story… before she was just Target B. Seeing her breathe, seeing her life… the weight of it all comes crashing down.

He clenches his rifle. She’s a murderer. She helped kill a child. A family forever fractured by this woman’s actions to protect her ass. Her death will be quick and easy; it’s more than what she deserves. 

He has to do this to secure some trust with Slade. None of this will be worth it if he can’t have Slade’s trust.

Her cell phone lights up and she reaches over to answer it. Even through the green of his scope, he can see her face start to pale. Her eyes suddenly shift. Despite being a good distance away, it feels as if her eyes are focused on him. It makes him uncomfortable.

“Target one has been taken care of. Change of plans, I’m on my way to you now. Wait for me.”

Slade’s voice suddenly feels distant, Dick wipes the sweat off his brow and he returns his gaze to the scope. Oh God, oh God he’s going to do this… ‘I can’t do this… I can…’ He can hear Damian’s voice telling him not to hesitate, to remember why he was doing this, the bigger picture. He shoves Damian out of his mind.

With his finger resting on the trigger, he looks at her one last time. Her eyes still seemed trained on him. Renegade pushes the eerie feeling aside and takes a deep breath. It’s time.

With a determined frown on his face, he pulls the trigger. 

The second after the bullet was fired the door to her apartment opens. 

Unfortunately for the woman, Renegade’s too well trained to miss. The bullet goes clean through her head and she topples down to the ground unceremoniously. 

Renegade looks upon the scene in disgust. Her blood sprinkled over the wall and her body had slumped over on the floor, disappearing from view. 

He almost vomits. He can feel the bile threatening to rise in his throat and he’s shaking. 

He sits back against the roof’s wall ledge and counts to ten. One…he pictures her blood…two… sees her body lifelessly falling…three… he goes on like that for what seems like an hour. He opens his eyes at ten and realizes he had started crying. Rubbing the wetness from his face, he stands back up and numbly begins to disassemble his gun. 

There’s no going back now.

Just as he’s about to remove the scope, his eyes catch on her visitor. 

He can recognize that ridiculous outfit anywhere. The red hair is covered up by a black cap and there’s a mask obscuring his face but he still looks the same. Roy Harper, former friend and ally, just now witnessed Dick’s—no, Renegade’s, first assassination. 

Arsenal runs over to where the woman is laying and presses a finger against his ear. He bends down to futilely check her pulse before looking out onto the rooftops. Unlike the woman, Arsenal has an enhanced mask that is capable of spotting Renegade from this distance.

Dick feels the panic start to rise. Shit. 

Arsenal using an earpiece isn’t good news. That means he’s working with someone and that means that backup could show up anytime. Before he could further process the scene, he hears Deathstroke’s voice yell at him.

“DOWN!” 

Despite Deathstroke’s warning, the bullet grazes Dick’s arm and he gasps out in pain. Dick turns around with a grimace and tries to spot the shooter. 

“What the hell was that?” Dick exclaims, clutching his bleeding arm. 

“I told you to wait, dammit,” Deathstroke growls, he runs over to Renegade’s position. “Finish packing up the rest of your shit; we need to go.”

“I had a clear shot and if I didn’t act we’d still have a living problem,” Dick bites back. He finishes getting his stuff together and stands up. 

Deathstroke signals Renegade to follow him. They crouch low on the rooftop and break out into a run. But where they go, gunfire seems to follow. 

“So, want to tell me who’s after us?” Dick uses his good arm and flips over an AC unit. “Y’know, besides my old teammate?”

The only answer he gets is a small, dismissive head nod that tells him he won’t be getting an answer from him until they’re back at the safe house. They slip down the side of a rooftop and skid around a corner. The alleyway covers them in gratuitous darkness but their followers are not far behind. 

Renegade turns to look behind him and feels his blood run cold. He spots Arsenal far behind them but there’s another that is closer on their trail: an even more familiar face. 

He whips his head forward and signals Deathstroke. They weren’t going to shake them off by running, they need to lead them into a trap. He extracts high-tensile cord from his belt and motions for Deathstroke to take the other end. 

They’re about to reach the end of the alleyway, Deathstroke takes the cord and takes a sharp right while Renegade goes left. They drop down low to the ground and wait while the line is limp on the ground. Deathstroke sits up and presses his back against the wall and angles his head towards the opening of the alley. Dick’s heart is pounding, growing louder in his ears as the second's tick by. 

Deathstroke signals and they pull the line taut. They electrify the line and the two men following them make a vain attempt to diverge but ultimately the line gets caught under them, bringing them crashing to the ground. 

Dick looks down at them, coming mask-to-mask with the Red Hood and Arsenal. 

They’re both groaning but not entirely knocked out. The electricity emanating from the line should have them out cold, so Deathstroke drops a can of gas in their direction and it seeps out slowly. 

If there’s one thing he hadn’t prepared for tonight, it was seeing Jason again. 

Renegade can hardly look down at them as Deathstroke pushes his boot to turn their heads once the gas clears. They both seem to be out but with Jason’s helmet covering his face, it’s hard to tell. 

Renegade and Deathstroke don’t speak a word to each other but they both know it’s time to leave. This is far too personal to linger. The shock of the day is beginning to fade and Dick starts to feel the weight of his actions. Jason and Roy were close to him and now they were on the ground, passed out by his doing.

His thoughts almost stop him from hearing his name. 

“Dick?”

Jason’s voice is weak and distorted by the mask. Renegade and Deathstroke turn simultaneously and look down at him. Deathstroke eyes Renegade carefully but he takes a step away as a sign of respect. 

“Hey, Jason.” Despite his best attempt to be confident, his voice comes out weak. 

Jason’s head is raised slightly as he warily reaches for his brother. 

“I’m sorry…but I gotta go,” Dick whispers. 

Jason’s head drops back down as Renegade turns away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff's gettin' real D:   
> See you next week!


	4. Three

“What?” Bruce yells, a little too loudly for six in the morning.

“I’m telling you, it was him,” Jason shrugs. “Looks like golden boy isn’t so golden anymore.”

Bruce stops stitching a gash on his left forearm and ties the end of the suture. 

“And you chose to tell me a week after this happened?” Bruce stands up and starts to head towards the Batcomputer. 

“Hey, you’re lucky I even came to you.” Jason blocks Batman’s path. 

They look at each other, both unwilling to break the stare. 

Jason had caught him at the end of his patrol fighting off some unknowns at the docks. Now here he was, standing in the Batcave after a long ass night. He did not have the energy or desire for a confrontation right now and he’s guessing Bruce doesn’t either. 

Although, aside from his one exposed forearm, the man was still wearing his batsuit.

“If master Dick has gotten himself into trouble, you both should be focusing on that. Not on your issues.” Alfred walks in with a mug in his hand.

Bruce reaches out for the mug, but Alfred pulls it away.

“This,” Alfred starts, “is not for you.” 

Jason tears his gaze from Bruce and looks towards the British butler. 

“Morning Alfred.”

“Master Jason, always a pleasure.” Alfred hands the mug to Jason, his mouth tugging into a familiar smile. 

Batman removes his cowl, revealing the fallible man underneath. 

Bruce presses a button on his right glove and a compartment rises from the ground housing the stand for his costume. He sets the cowl on the mannequin’s head and starts to remove the rest of his gear.

“We need to find him,” Bruce says, stepping out of his armor.

“Look, I’m telling you he doesn’t want to be found.” Jason turns away from Alfred. “I’ve been looking for him myself with no luck. None of my contacts are talking either. That’s why I didn’t tell you until now.” 

Bruce looks over at the Batcomputer. There’s an alert from the Justice League flashing on the screen. He walks over and shuts it off, but stands there staring at the black screen.

Bruce’s silence aggravates Jason. For fuck’s sake, how do you not notice when one of your own goes all dark side? Sure, Gotham’s finest have been stirring up a fair amount of trouble, but when did that stop you for checking in with your family?

Jason walks over to the glass case with Dick’s original Robin outfit on display. When he first became Robin, he didn’t hide his curiosity about the original boy wonder. When Bruce would talk about him, Jason used to hang on to Bruce’s every word. He should’ve known then that he would never measure up in Bruce’s eyes—or anyone’s eyes for that matter.

He can feel Bruce’s presence behind him. 

“You guys had an argument.” Jason laces his accusation with irritation, “and that’s why you didn’t know Dick has been working with fuckin’ Deathstroke.”

Bruce has the humility to look away.

“When’s the last time you spoke to him, huh? Weeks? Months?” Jason asks.

Bruce stares at the glass case. “Six months after Damian died.”

Jason does the math in his head and huffs incredulously. “Jesus Bruce, you haven’t thought to check in with him for five months?” 

“If I had known he was with Slade, I would’ve intervened,” Bruce defends. 

Jason’s skin prickles with anger. He stares at the original Robin costume but feels himself start to deflate. The animosity is still there, but there’s also something else. How long has Dick been on his own, dealing with the pain of losing Damian? Bruce definitely wasn’t any help in the emotional department. It could be that Dick felt abandoned by Bruce, with which Jason was all too familiar. 

He closes his eyes and releases some of his resentment.

“How could you not know what he was up to?” Jason asks, softer than before. 

Bruce turns towards Jason’s old Robin costume, his eyes hardening and mouth twisting into a frown as memories flood his senses. 

“Dick felt partially responsible for your death. We didn’t speak for weeks after, but he came back,” Bruce says, “and then your resurrection reminded him of what he views as a personal failure to you. And then with Damian… I just thought he needed some time away.”

Jason clenches his fist; Dick has to know that he doesn’t blame him about his death. No amount of one-on-one time with the original Robin would have stopped Jason from going into that warehouse to save his mother. Dick can’t blame himself for that, or for what happened to Damian. 

Bruce places his hand on Jason’s shoulder, and for a few seconds, Jason lets him. 

But then he turns around and walks back towards the Batcomputer, shoving Bruce’s hand away. He sets down the mug and walks towards his motorcycle. He turns the ignition and pauses.

Jason can understand grief and what it does to people. Bruce doesn’t deserve the kindness of what Jason’s about to say but this isn’t about him, it’s about Dick.

“Bruce,” Jason calls out. “I’ll find him. I have some other contacts I need to see.”

He leaves Bruce looking a little startled at his placidness and speeds out of the cave.

The cool autumn air greets him as he leaves the manor and down the winding road towards the city. It’s early in the morning and the sun is beginning to rise above the horizon. 

_Dammit Dick, what have you gotten yourself in to?_

Jason merges onto the main road and speeds around the traffic in front of him. He’s pissed – pissed at Dick, Bruce, the whole damn situation. Dick isn’t a killer, so why the hell did Jason catch him gunning down a middle-aged woman? 

He comes to a red light and sets his right foot on the ground to steady the bike. 

He knows that Dick and Slade have history but feels that he’s missing a huge chunk of the story. He doubts Bruce would tell him and he wasn’t close enough to the original Titans to ask them. 

Roy worked with them for a bit, maybe he’d have some insight. 

The light turns greens and he takes off, heading to the apartment.

He arrives at the dilapidated apartment complex and parks his bike in the alley. 

It was a conscious choice to live in the rougher part of Gotham. He felt there was no better way to know what’s really wrong with the city than when you’re in the middle of it.

He sets the bike’s alarm and walks into the building. He takes the stairs two steps at a time up to the top, which was only a modest four stories. 

He walks down the hallway to the last door on the right and opens the door. Annoyed that the door was unlocked, he shuts the door and starts securing the locks. 

He hears Roy come out of the kitchen and turns to look at him. 

“Lock these,” Jason says.

Roy looks at him sleepily and wrinkles his nose. He has a mug in his hand and the smell of coffee wafts by, drawing Jason further into the apartment. 

“My bad,” Roy says, sitting down in the living room. He reclines back in his chair and turns up the volume on the TV. 

Jason rolls his eyes at Roy’s indifference and steps into the kitchen. He returns to the living room with his own mug of black coffee in hand.

But then Jason looks down at it and feels his stomach churn.

“How’d telling Bruce go?” Roy asks. 

Jason takes a seat on the couch and sets his cup down. “About as well as you’d think. I think Bruce got into it with Dick after Damian died but I still don’t have a clue why Dick turned to Deathstroke.”

Roy looks down at the floor, his eyebrows drawn in deep thought.

Now’s the time to ask about what happened during the Titan days, Jason muses. He shifts his attention to the television and pretends to be interested. 

“Do you know anything about what happened between Dick and Slade?” Jason asks, using as casual a tone as he can muster. 

Roy stiffens and draws in a breath. 

“I don’t know; no one would tell me,” Roy says, the slightest bit of irritation rising in his tone. 

“What do you mean they wouldn’t tell you?” 

“Meaning they wouldn’t say.” Roy glares. “All I know is Dick went missing for awhile and that Slade was responsible for it.” 

Jason frowns. Apparently, the original Titans were a tight-knit group that shared little with others. If they didn’t tell Roy, he highly doubts they’d fill him in. Admittedly, he did try to kill them – and Dick – a few times. 

Jason sighs, he was banking on Roy having useful information. Maybe one of Slade’s “friends” would be able to tell them what’s going on. Jason’s about to throw that idea out when he stops to look at Roy – an idea blossoming in his head.

“Roy, when’s the last time you had contact with Cheshire?” 

He hears Roy sputter his drink. Jason turns his attention from the TV to catch Roy wipe dripping coffee off his chin.

“Uh, it’s been a minute,” Roy says, raising an eyebrow at Jason. “You’re not seriously considering asking her for a favor, are you?”

Jason picks up his coffee cup and sips at the hot liquid. 

“Jesus, really?” Roy whines. 

“Right now Dickie-bird could’ve actually lost his mind and decided to work for that asshole for fun.” He looks at Roy’s expression of doubt. “Or, he’s playing Slade. Either way, he’s in way over his head.”

“No offense Jay.” Roy sits up in his chair. “But when did you care so much about Dick?”

Jason rolls his eyes and drains the rest of his coffee. “It’s not like that. He’s saved my ass once or twice, so it’s only fair I repay the favor.”

Roy laughs at that. “Yeah okay, Jason.”

Jason looks at him with a rebellious glint in his eye. “Plus it’d be a nice ‘fuck you’ to Bruce if I’m the one that saves what he couldn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Jason chapter for ya.  
> Also apologies for the late update, I'm traveling :)


	5. Four

“The Red Hood’s a problem.”

Dick looks up from his book and sighs. He sets it on the table that separates their two seats. He opens the shade on the jet window and lets his eyes adjust to the bright clouds. 

“He’s just trying to help, Slade.”

“It’s bad business when colleagues find out a Bat is asking questions.”

Dick breathes out slowly. They’re high above the clouds and it’s peaceful to look out and see nothing but blue sky tinted with orange. The sun’s setting behind them and he feels himself slip back to the memory of his first contract. He’s fighting the guilt, trying to push it away with rationalizations. 

They were bad people, hurting the innocent and hoarding their wealth at their employee’s expense. His guilt doesn’t lessen, especially when all he can see when he closes his eyes is her body hitting the floor. 

Here’s hoping the life long guilt earned him some credibility with Slade. 

Dick begrudgingly shuts the shade and looks back at Slade. His eyes haven’t adjusted yet, leaving the jet covered in a darkened hue and Slade’s features vague. 

“Look, Jason’s not going to stop just because I ask nicely,” Dick says. 

Slade leans forward onto the table. “You’re going to have to find a way to make him stop.”

Dick’s throat goes dry. He picks up his water glass to wash it away, but his tongue feels like sandpaper as he runs it along his inner cheek. He wonders what he should say to Slade, who is very obviously waiting for an appropriate response. But what could he say? He had no plan to stop Jason because he knew no matter what he did, Jason wouldn’t stop pursuing this. 

He turns his attention to the book that lay in front of him. 

“I’ll find a way to take care of it,” he hears himself say. 

“Make it quick. We have a contract coming up.”

\-----

“You know, the French are a bunch of assholes.”

“That’s because you stick out like a sore thumb.” Jason flicks his cigarette out of his hand. “They can smell the tourist on you.”

“All I’m saying,” Roy says as he bends down to pick up Jason’s discarded cigarette, “is that they could just make a little room in a crowded walkway.”

Roy walks over to throw the cigarette in a waste bin. As he moves away from it, his eyes catch on a green jacket. He looks back at Jason and then back, but the jacket’s gone from view. 

He starts back towards Jason when someone catches his arm. He spins around and comes face-to-face with Cheshire, only not Cheshire, but Jade. Jade, who still simultaneously gives him butterflies and fills him with regret.

“Hey Red.” 

“Jade,” he returns coolly.

Jason takes this opportunity to enter the exchange. 

“Let’s take this somewhere more private,” he says, gesturing to the crowd surrounding them. 

Back at their less-than-impressive hotel room, Cheshire sits on the bed closest to the door while Roy stands in the corner farthest away from her crossing his arms. Jason sits on the full-sized bed adjacent from her and leans towards her.

“What do you know?” he asks.

Her eyes give away her amusement and her mouth grows into a smile. 

“You know, I don’t remember us discussing what my reward would be for giving you this information,” she leers.

Jason looks toward Roy, but Roy just shrugs his shoulders as if to say: ‘see, told you she wouldn’t help.’

Jason takes his gun out of his waistband and points it at her, “How about you start talking before I blow a hole through your head?”

Cheshire stares back blankly at him, daring him to call his bluff. He can see Roy tense up from the corner of his eye. 

Jason can feel her gaze as she scans his face. Her green eyes wander his body and suddenly, her demeanor shifts. 

Settling back onto the bed, she says, “I don’t know much, just that Nightwing’s been working as Slade’s little protégé, ‘Renegade,’ for a few months.”

Jason laughs at the predictability self-deprecating name. He might have well as called himself the Martyr.

Roy stands straight and asks, “But why?”

Jason looks at him. Jade’s presence has obviously thrown his partner off, but he’s never been so obvious about it before. Roy had been tapping his finger on his opposite arm at a rate that Jason thought he might wear out a hole in the fabric of his sweater. 

“Don’t know why,” Jade says. “But I can find out.”

“Yeah, for how much Jade?” Roy asks with a frown.

She leans in his direction and says, “Base fee? Fifty grand, upfront.”

Jason looks at Roy and then back at Jade and laughs, “You think we have that kind of money?”

He gestures towards their hotel room. 

She scowls then and turns her attention to Jason, “You’re a Bat, I’m sure you can find the money somewhere. Otherwise, good luck trying to find someone willing to squeal on Deathstroke.”

Jason thinks about Bruce. He’d quickly shell out fifty grand to rescue his favorite son. 

Roy speaks before he can, “Half up front. You’ll get the rest when you get us some concrete information.”

Cheshire grins. “Two-thirds up front.”

Roy sets his jaw and crosses his arms. “No.” 

The grin doesn’t leave her face as she gets up and starts towards the door. Her hand rests on the door handle and Jason scowls at Roy to fix it. 

“Fine,” Roy says, staring at Jason. “Two-thirds.”

She whips around and saunters towards Roy. Jason raises an eyebrow the nearer she goes towards his face. She inches away from his lips. He can see Roy ball his fists while looking her dead in the eye. She whispers something and turns away. 

“Deal, here’s my routing number.” She flicks a card onto Jason’s bed. She walks towards the door and turns around. “Tomorrow, 3 p.m.”

She leaves the room and Jason asks, “What did she say to you?”

Roy shakes his head and says, “You don’t want to know.”

Jason smirks. “Well, we got time to kill. Wanna get a drink?” 

“Yeah.”

A few beers and five shots later and they’re back at the hotel with Jason supporting Roy’s drunken weight. They shuffle through the door and Jason shimmies himself out of Roy’s grip and lightly shoves him onto the bed. 

He sits onto the adjacent bed and pulls his boots off. He chugs some of the water he had left out before and it begins to dribble down his face. He sets the water down and wipes his mouth. He takes one more look over at Roy before falling backward onto the bed. 

He stares up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. He wanted to fall asleep but his mind is too wired, buzzing with information and all the probable scenarios that had Dick working with Deathstroke. 

It was only when light started to filter through the curtains that he realized he had stayed up all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, fell behind in updates this week. Sorry! :)


	6. Five

“Dick.”

He looks up at the sound of his name. 

“Yes?”

Slade’s standing by the front door looking rather annoyed. 

“Have you come up with a plan yet?”

“What plan?” Dick asks in a chipper tone. 

Earlier, he had sat down on the couch intending to come up with a plan, but after coming up with little, he’d let his exhaustion wash over him and had fallen asleep. He sits up while Slade crosses the small living room and sets his stuff on the dining room table. 

“Don’t be stupid.”

He turns to look at Slade. “Don’t worry, I have it covered.” 

Slade’s expression remains neutral. “Care to share?” 

Dick sighs. He gets up and walks into the kitchen and takes out a glass from the cupboard. He fills it with water from the sink and takes a large gulp before setting it back down. 

The kitchen opens up to the small dining area so he can see as Slade’s stands expectantly by the table, waiting for a response. 

“I’m going to find him before he finds me,” he spits out. 

This elicits an intrigued expression from Slade. “And you think you can convince him to abandon his brother?”

“No,” Dick admits. “But if there’s anyone that would understand this, it’s Jason.” 

Slade crosses his arms and says, “I hope you’re right.”

Slade must be tired, Dick muses, or else he would have probed deeper.

Dick finishes his drink and puts the empty glass in the sink. It’s obvious that Slade still doesn’t trust him, but he can’t fault him for that. It’s only been a few short months, definitely not long enough to convince Slade he’s pulled a 180 on his morality. But Dick needs that trust if he’s going to accomplish any of his plans. 

“Slade?”

A grunt. 

“Mind if I do some research on the main computer?”

For a second, it looks like Slade would say no.

But Slade simply shrugs and says, “Yes, same restrictions still apply.” 

Dick struggles not to roll his eyes. “Thanks.”

He heads out of the kitchen, past the dining area and downstairs into the basement. 

Slade set this base up in Brussels and outfitted it with thousands of dollars of technology. Not state of the art like the Batcave but it would suit Dick’s needs to find Jason. 

This wasn’t a good plan. He’d basically come up with it on the spot to please Slade. But then again, maybe what he needed was a dumb plan. 

He flicks on the switch and watches as the screens filter on. He ignores the ones broadcasting the news and sits down at the largest monitor. 

He plugs in the password for the login and looks into the eye scanner, granting him entry into Slade’s files. Though, as Slade so kindly reminded him, they’re censored and information is more than often redacted. The computer monitors Dick’s activity, which Slade could review anytime. More proof of the lack of trust between them.

He opens up the file on the Red Hood and scans the list of known associates and contacts. Dick notices a few missing names on the list and can only smile at Slade’s incomplete intel. His fingers hover above the keyboard about to fill the names in but then decides that what Slade doesn’t know benefits Dick in the long run. 

None of the names are sticking out to him, a lot of them are Gotham based and would have no means of having any information on Deathstroke or himself. Jason wouldn’t ask the al Ghul’s in the light of what happened to Damian. The All Caste were gone and Jason didn’t associate with a lot of assassins. 

Dick stares at the monitor and starts to chew his inner lip. 

Focus on the task Grayson; think about the facts. Jason and Roy are working together to find him. That means they would share contacts, so who would they go to for information? 

He opens the facial recognition software on the computer; if either of their faces was recently caught on camera, he would get a hit with their location. It’s not the fastest program in the world, so he sits back in the chair and watches the loading bar. 

Ten minutes later and the computer chimes. No results found. 

Damn. He starts typing and looks at the data. He realizes that the scanner was searching for the Rood Hood and Arsenal. Slade hasn’t uploaded photos of their civilian identity. He does a quick search online and uploads an image of Jason from a news article – the one announcing his death. 

Once again he settles into his chair, waiting. 

He hears the familiar chime and looks up, hopeful. 

One result. 

He sighs in relief and opens it up to find a grainy picture of Jason. Not the best quality but definitively Jason. 

Dick looks carefully at the photo. It was taken in Marseilles, France and the timestamp is from a few hours ago. He’s standing on a sidewalk next to, whom Dick assumes, is Roy, judging by the baseball cap (Europeans tend not to wear caps). But there’s another figure with them that are facing away from the camera so Dick can’t see who it is. He tries enhancing it but there’s not much improvement. 

Green jacket pulled close enough to suggest a woman’s figure, dark hair, looks about 5’8? 5'9?. 

He switches back and looks up Arsenal’s file to scan his known associates. Finally, he sees the name he was looking for and knows exactly who the third mystery person is. 

Dick's hand hovers to shut the computer down. He's still as he listens for any sign of Slade coming down, but all he hears is the slight whir of the technology. He takes out a hard drive that's about a half an inch long and then opens up a back door to the computer system. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he types to unlock the monitoring program Slade uses. He has to be quick or else it will alert Slade of his indiscretion. The system opens for him and he plugs in the USB. 

A loading bar pops up and downloads what he needs. He wipes a bit of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. A floorboard creaks overhead, but Dick doesn't panic. He has time. Doing this is a huge risk to the established bit of trust he's managed to secure, but it absolutely has to be done. The last bar fills up and he quickly pulls the USB out, shuts down the computer and runs upstairs.

Shaking off what he'd done, he secures the USB in a small pant pocket.

He can make his plan about Jason work, but it has to be quick. 

He finds Slade sitting in his office with documents laid in front of him. His desk is littered in blueprints and papers and he doesn’t look up at Dick reaches his door. Dick walks up to him and puts his hands on the chair in front of the desk. Slade pencils a few notes and then looks up.

Dick’s expression is serious as he asks, “Do you still have League of Assassins contacts?”

\-----

“It’s three, where the hell is she?” Jason asks gruffly.

The hotel room stinks of alcohol and the stench is starting to overwhelm him. He walks over to the window and peeks through the curtains, letting light into the room. 

Roy groans and pulls his cap over his eyes. “I don’t know man. She’ll be here.” 

“She better be, or else we’re out 33 grand.” He stares back at Roy, eyes shining with annoyance.

Roy sits up on the bed, propping himself up with his elbows. His bloodshot eyes peer at him mischievously over dark circles. “You mean Batman’s out 33 grand.” 

Jason’s two seconds away from throwing an insult at Roy when a soft knock comes from the door. 

“Finally,” Jason says. He raises his eyebrows and gestures towards the door. “You going to get that?” 

A sigh escapes Roy as he drags himself off the bed. He opens the door and Cheshire’s face greets him. 

Jason sees the dart go into Roy’s chest before he registers the gun in her hand. He steps backward blindly into the room, grabbing the needle and tossing it to the ground. She thrusts her foot up and into his stomach and steps into the room.

Roy groans and Cheshire fires another shot. He goes still, completely knocked out. 

Jason has his guns ready and aimed at her. She looks coyly at him before running towards him. His guns discharge, but she moves quickly and can dodge most of his shots. A bullet skims her forearm but she continues forward. 

Cheshire jumps onto the bed and lunges forward. Jason throws his arms up across his chest to block her attack. 

“What the hell?” Jason grunts, blocking another hit. 

Cheshire crouches low and uses her legs to knock Jason’s balance. Jason jumps backward and his back hits the wall. He growls and aims his gun at Cheshire. 

At the last minute, he sees someone else standing in the doorway. 

“She got a better offer,” a voice says. 

Jason’s eyes flash over to see Dick for the first time since Metropolis. Apparently, it’s all the distraction needed for Cheshire to aim her dart gun at Jason and hit her target. He curses, tearing his eyes from his unexpected visitor and back at the double vision of Cheshire. Jason can feel the immediate effects of the drug pulling him from consciousness. 

Dick steps over Roy and into the room. “Check your account,” he says to Cheshire. 

Jason falls onto the floor. He can tell he only has seconds before it’s lights out. 

She pulls out her phone and grins slyly. “Payment received,” she says and bows out from the room. 

“The fu—“ Jason slurs. What planet did this make sense, his disoriented mind thinks.

Dick shushes him. 

The edges of Jason’s vision start to dim; his center of view slowly closing in. He sees Dick begin to pull out the tensile cord and then his heavy eyelids fall closed.


	7. Six

He hears a groan beside him and turns down the soft pop playing on the radio. He hoped Jason would be out longer but c’est la vie, time to adjust. 

Jason starts squirming, trying to break through the haze of drugs. Dick’s foot presses down on the accelerator, pushing through the traffic. He’s got maybe another fifteen to twenty minutes before Jason’s up and he’s about thirty minutes out from their planned destination. 

He opens the center console and reaches for the sedatives, but his hand only grabs air. He could have sworn he had put them in before leaving the airport. 

“Damn,” he mutters to himself. 

He presses the call button on the steering wheel. The computerized voice asks for the intended contact.

“Slade.”

It rings twice and then he hears Slade’s gruff voice. 

“Yes?” 

“I’ve got him,” Dick says, cautiously eyeing Jason. “I need a place to bring him close to my location.”

“Why aren’t you bringing him to where we already discussed?” 

“He’s going to wake up before then and I,” he pauses, looking at the empty console, “…misplaced the sedatives I brought with me.” 

He waits for Slade to respond. Dick imagines what arrogant chide he’ll come up with. He’s as quick with words as he is with guns and swords and he always seizes the moment to reprimand others – especially where Dick’s concerned. 

But Slade simply answers with, “There’s an unoccupied house nearby, sending you the location.”

He loosens his grip on the steering wheel, relaxing at Slade’s response. It’s rare for Slade to be cavalier about a misstep of Dick’s. Which makes him wonder if something else has Slade’s attention. 

“Grayson.” Slade’s voice is ruff and he knows the other shoe’s about to drop. “Don’t ever go into a situation unprepared again. You’re not an idiot so don’t act like one.”

“Yes sir,” he says, the sarcasm barely audible. He releases a breath he hadn’t meant to hold and ends the call. If he's honest with himself, he prefers when Slade’s a prick. He’s easier to predict. Plus, the whole 'I care about you' act just creeps him out.

The GPS pings with the house’s location. Only ten miles, he can make it ten miles. 

He spends the rest of the car ride making sure Jason stays unconscious. He pokes him once out of curiosity but Jason doesn’t move. Eventually, he pulls off the road and finds the house on the outskirts of Marseille. There are a few houses nearby but it doesn’t look like anyone’s home. 

He gets out of the car and opens the trunk. He pulls out a small duffel bag and steps towards the house. Dick looks back at the car with Jason slumped over in the front seat. He locks the doors and prays to God that Jason’s still there when he comes back out. 

The door’s unlocked so he steps cautiously through the front entry. The living room is bare, cramped and smells musty, probably from a prolonged vacancy. There’s light streaming through the thin curtains giving little light. He flicks a nearby switch, it clicks hollowly but nothing lights up. He walks further in and notices his footprints leaving an impression on the dusty floor. His mouth stretches into a grimace. 

He steps into the kitchen and finds a decent enough chair that looks sturdy enough to support Jason’s weight. He brings it from the kitchen and sets it in the middle of the living room. He presses down on the seat to see if it’ll hold. It won’t keep Jason restrained for long but long enough to get Dick’s message across. 

He walks across the graveled driveway to where Jason's still passed out in the car. He disarms it and gets him out. He shifts Jason’s weight to carry him over his shoulder. A grunt escapes Jason and Dick picks up the pace, sensing his fifteen minutes are about up. 

Dick gets him into the house and secures him onto the chair using a combination of sturdy rope and a pair of handcuffs he brought along with him. 

He goes through his bag, searching for the missing sedatives. He moves a pair of gloves and spots his handgun lying on the bottom. He looks up, considering his options, and then chambers a round. His hands hover hesitantly over the magazine holding the additional rounds. 

His stomach drops at the implications of loading a gun. He shouldn’t need it because it wouldn’t come to that. Definitely not. 

Jason moans and Dick slams the butt end of the magazine into the gun. Just in case. He places it back and is still sifting through the bag’s contents when he hears Jason testing the binds. He kicks the bag into the corner and walks closer, waiting for him to finally open his eyes. 

“You might as well open your eyes, I know you’re up,” Dick says, crossing his arms. 

Jason gives up the act and stares up at Dick. He shifts into a more relaxed position and groans dramatically.

“Dickie-bird, I’m flattered you went through all this trouble for me,” he mocks. “But this isn’t going to hold me for long.”

“I don’t need long.” Dick tries to sound threatening. But by the look of Jason’s face, he doesn’t seem to be buying it. “I need you to stop looking into Deathstroke and me,” he tries again. 

Jason narrows his eyes. “Does he have something over you?” 

“No.”

“Then why are you his bitch? Why are you working for him? And where the hell is Roy?” Jason snaps. 

Dick sighs, trying to remain composed. Dick searches his brother’s face and finds that he really wants to tell Jason everything. But he can’t… not if it means ruining everything he’s built in the last few months. This isn’t about unburdening himself; this is about getting Jason off his back.

“Roy’s fine, he doesn’t need to be here for this,” Dick says as he takes a step closer to Jason, trying to impose his height in intimidation. 

“So tell me what ‘this’ is. What the fuck are you doing with Slade Wilson?” Jason tips his chin upwards. “Trying to get attention from Bats?”

Dick pauses, unsure of what to say.

“I’m going to kill Ra’s,” he says suddenly, exhaling as the truth leaves his mouth. He studies Jason’s expression, which is a mixture of disbelief and confusion. “And Talia.”

The air becomes electrified in an already tense situation. This truth, while not in its entirety, changes things. He can taste the nerves as he waits for Jason’s reply. 

Jason sets his jaw. He opens his mouth and says, “Doesn’t answer my question.” 

His expression changes like he’s relatively unbothered by his confession, as if he just told him he was planning on cutting his hair. Dick puts his hands up and pushes his hair back in frustration. Why’d he think this was going to be easy?

“Because I want to,” he says tersely. “If I have to be Slade’s ‘bitch’ to see this through then so be it.”

“Is this because of Damian?” Jason asks. Dick keeps his expression as neutral as possible but Jason must read the truth written in his body language. He snorts incredulously. “Jesus Dick. What ever happened to the ‘justice not revenge’ ideology that you and Bruce like to preach?” 

Dick laughs, almost hysterically. “You’re kidding me, right? There is no justice when it comes to them; you should know that better than anybody.” 

Jason’s face tries to mask the hurt but Dick’s spent enough time studying people’s micro-expressions to know the truth. Two can play at that game. 

“Prisons and institutions don’t work for people like them.” Dick lowers his voice. “Death’s the surest way to prevent them from infecting the world with their agendas.” 

Jason seems to consider him. After all, he was the one who came back from the dead and took out half of Gotham’s mob problem. Killing was sometimes necessary. All Dick needs is for Jason to get that and leave.

Jason shifts in his chair, pulling on his restraints. “Fine. I’ll help you kill them.”

Dick starts shaking his head, eyes locked with Jason’s. 

“Stop working with Deathstroke,” Jason says, tone bordering on pleading. “You don’t need him for this.” 

“He’s one of the best assassins in the world. If I’m going to kill that bastard and his daughter, I need to be the best,” Dick says firmly. 

“It’s not just that. You’re killing civilians Dick—“ 

“Don’t,” Dick cuts him off, “I’m not killing anyone who doesn’t deserve it. Sound familiar?” 

Dick feels disbelief starts to creep out of the hope that Jason would understand. Out of anyone, Dick thought Jason would be on his side about this. But the way Jason’s eyes are judging him, it’s obvious he was wrong.

“Jesus, what is going on in that pretty head of yours?” Jason spits out. “This isn’t you.”

A deep-pitted sadness settles in Dick’s stomach.

“It is now,” he grits out. “You need to accept it and stop pursuing me.” 

Dick hears his phone vibrate from his bag. He walks over and drops down to a crouch to pick up the phone to see the text message alert from Slade.

> _Hurry up. I need you back here._

“Or what? Deathstroke’s gonna come and kill me?” Jason asks sardonically. 

He spins on the balls of his feet. 

“I found you because I thought you would understand,” he mutters darkly. “Why don’t you understand?” 

Jason breathes deeply. “I do.” 

“Then let me go,” he says emphatically. 

“Not gonna happen,” Jason says. “Damian wouldn’t want to be your reason for turning into a killer.” 

A cool rage overtakes Dick, completing eclipsing his grief. “You didn’t know Damian.”

“I know he hated Deathstroke and fuckin’ idolized you. I also know he’ll always be your Robin more than Bruce’s,” Jason says frankly. 

The world quiets around him as an indignant rage starts to burn in the pit of his stomach. Jason has no right to talk about him. He wasn’t there, he wasn’t the one training Damian, and making sure he was adjusting to new morals. He didn’t catch the moments where Damian let his guard down and proved he really was only 12 years old. No, that was all Dick. 

He was just a kid that deserved so much more than a mother like Talia and a father as absent as Bruce. 

“Damian’s dead and I’m the only one doing something about it,” he replies coolly. “And for the record Jason, you don’t get to say shit about how I’m handling it.”

Dick catches the exasperation in Jason’s face. 

“Sorry Dick, but I don’t buy it. You need help.” Jason shrugs his shoulders.

 _Well, this isn’t working,_ Dick thinks. Time to switch tactics and take a page out of Jason’s book. 

“What do I have to do to convince you that I don’t need saving?” Dick asks, his hand inching towards his bag’s opening. 

“I don’t know Dick, start by getting me out of this,” he replies, shaking his hands and rattling the cuffs. “Give up this stupid crusade and stop working for an asshole.” 

Dick stands up, one hand hidden behind his back. Jason angles his head to see, so Dick raises his hand and shows him. The grip of a handgun hangs in his grasp. He points it in Jason’s direction, his hands firm and confident. 

Jason unconsciously stiffens in his chair. His eyes are trained on Dick’s hand, but he looks far from worried.

“You won’t,” he says confidently.

Dick removes the safety and fires a shot. The bullet enters Jason’s right shoulder and he shouts. Blood starts to seep out of his shoulder and through his clothes. 

The anger from before starts to bleed out of him like the blood dripping from Jason’s wound. Dick stares blankly as he watches the red stain spread. The bullet went clean through, he notices gratefully. Jason’s grunts bring Dick’s attention to his face, and he watches him breathe through his teeth to coax himself through the pain.

Dick hears the chime of the handcuff key hitting the floor and looks down. He must have dropped it. 

He turns away. 

“Leave me alone Jason or next time that bullet’s headed for your heart,” he hears himself say. He picks up the duffel and glances back at Jason’s contorted expression of pain. He turns around, slamming the door behind him. 

“You just going to leave me here like this?” Jason shouts, audible behind the closed door. “Dick!”

He shrugs off the guilt. He left him the key, making escape more than simple. 

He keeps walking. He opens the back and throws the bag into the trunk. He’s still holding the gun, the smell of discharge still clinging to it. He secures the safety and puts it in the inner pocket of his jacket. The sound of his heartbeat is growing louder in his ears and getting faster with every step. Opening the car door, he hears commotion within the house. He gets in the car.

Jason throws open the door and starts running to the car. His right arm hangs loosely by his side and blood drips from his fingers. 

“Dick!” Jason yells. “You fucking asshole!”

He turns the ignition and speeds away, leaving Jason royally pissed off and injured.


	8. Seven

Dick’s mind on the drive to the airport goes in a million different directions, leaving him foggy and disturbed. He pulls into the hanger with Slade’s jet ready for takeoff. Dick doesn’t bother to acknowledge the pilot standing by the ramp as he gets out of the car and onto the jet.

He’s about to sit in his seat when he sees them: the missing sedatives. Would’ve been useful an hour ago, he sighs dismally. He pockets the clear bottles of pancuronium bromide and sighs. They rattle in his pocket as he takes a seat.

He watches from the window as an attendant takes his bag from the trunk and takes it aboard. 

The preparations go quickly enough and he barely notices when they’re off the ground and sailing in the sky. 

The fog lifts slowly and gravity smacks him in the face. Jason’s expression of shock flashes across his memory. The bullet more than proved Dick’s point and cemented his separation from his old life. Guess that was the point, he tries to reason with himself. 

His tablet starts to beep so Dick waves away the attendant filling his water glass and sets up the stand. He turns to check that he’s alone in the cabin before pressing the flashing green button. 

“Slade,” he greets, as the mercenary’s face pops onto the screen. 

“Is it done?” Slade asks, forgoing formalities and getting to the point. 

Dick leans back in his seat and tilts his head. “Yup. Had to shoot him through the shoulder but I think the message’s been received.” 

Slade’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Did Cheshire give you any problems?”

“You give her enough money and she’s no problem at all.”

“I hope you’re right, considering that money’s coming from your pocket.”

Dick frowns. “Yeah well, there are always more contracts to take on.” 

“Speaking of which,” Slade says, his mouth twitching upwards. “We have another one. I’m sending you the details now. Make sure you review before landing. It’s time-sensitive.” 

His inbox flashes a notification and he nods. 

“I’ve rerouted you to Barcelona,” Slade continues, “We’ll meet here.”

“See you in an hour,” Dick says, ending the call. 

He presses the call button summoning the attendant. The attendant, a man a few years his senior with placid features, arrives quickly. 

“What can I get you, sir,” he asks, eyes briefly grazing his tablet.

Dick presses the lock button and smiles up at him. 

“Maker’s Mark on the rocks.”

The attendant straightens and says, “Right away.”

He keeps the tablet screen blackened until he comes back holding his drink and a small bowl of assorted nuts. 

Dick eyes him with muted curiosity as he sets the drink and nuts down. He must be new, judging by the rigidity of his movements. That and the fact he was trying to take a peek at business. Anyone familiar with Slade knew that usually meant broken limbs. 

“I’ll call you if I need anything else,” he says curtly. 

The other man nods and closes the cabin door leaving Dick alone. 

He rolls his head, trying to rid himself of tension. He raises his fist to his chin and pushes. His neck feels the immediate release and the pop brings him into focus. He picks up his tablet and opens up the files Slade sent him. 

There’s only one target this time: a prominent gangbanger, Emile Deboeck, who’s not so secretly passing information off to the police. It seems his loose lips have cost the area’s drug runners several shipments of cocaine and killed five in a shoot out with the police. Intel suggests he’s planning on leaving the city tonight and chances are he’ll disappear for good if they don’t catch up with him tonight. 

Dick scrolls through the information, memorizing the details. Then he comes across the name of their benefactor, breaking his focus entirely. 

He reaches for his drink and sips slowly. 

Interesting. He wasn’t aware the Black Mask was doing business internationally. And he definitely wasn’t aware that he was taking part in international drug trafficking. Roman Sionis isn’t exactly someone that Dick considers a major player outside Gotham.

His mind drifts back to his conversation with Jason. He made a deal with Slade that Renegade would only take part in contracts where the hit’s warranted. A killer’s code and all that. But there’s a massive grey zone, for example killing for the benefit of people like Sionis. 

But the target fits Dick’s qualification of wasted oxygen. Deboeck’s rap sheet reads of multiple assaults, robberies and embezzlement. All of which have been mysteriously dropped or taken care of under the protection by an unknown source. 

He finishes his drink. This will take more than one glass of bourbon to get through. He calls the attendant, who arrives quickly. Dick taps his empty glass smiling. The attendant returns a second later with fresh ice and refills his glass. Dick thanks him and lets the alcohol settle in. 

The warmth floods his stomach as he returns to business.

Sometime later, he hears the pilot announce their descent. A throbbing sensation pounds in his temples so he downs the rest of his drink. He pops a few peanuts and cashews into his mouth to mask the scent of alcohol — no need for Slade to get fussy about keeping his head clear. 

He opens the airplane shade and watches as the landscape below starts to grow closer. The jet jolts as it connects with the tarmac and the thrust reversers roar as they slow the force of the aircraft. They roll to a stop in a private hangar where a jet-black Escalade sits waiting for his arrival. 

The jet door hisses as it’s released. He checks his watch and curses. The flight was a bit longer than he’d anticipated. He gathers his stuff haphazardly and then steps quickly down the ramp stairs. An older gentleman is standing by the rear door of the SUV and Dick’s face lights up with recognition. 

At that, the other man’s face breaks into a soft smile and he nods his head. 

“Wintergreen,” Dick greets amicably. “I thought you’d left for good.” 

Slade and Wintergreen didn’t part on particularly good terms and it’d been almost a month since he’d last seen him. 

Dick reaches out a hand and Wintergreen shakes it. “Vacation got boring, thought I’d come back,” he answers, opening the door. “Come on. He’s impatient.”

Dick snorts. “When isn’t he?” 

“When he’s not been sitting here for ten minutes waiting for you,” another voice says. 

Dick closes his eyes and breathes in. “Of course you’re here.” He shoots Wintergreen a sour look and whispers, “Thanks for the warning.”

Wintergreen shrugs.

He gets into the car where Slade sits with his hands clasped already dressed in field gear. 

The door shuts behind him and he secures his seatbelt as Wintergreen assumes the role of the driver and takes off. 

Slade tosses a bulky bag at him. “Get changed.” 

Dick's eyebrows draw together. “Uh.”

Slade shifts and opens up his tablet. “If you’re worried about modesty, trust me I won’t look.”

Dick sits still for a moment. Slade tilts his head and looks at him. “Trust me; you’re not my type.”

Dick’s mouth pops open slightly but he screws it shut as soon as he realizes. Slade returns his attention to the tablet, his face illuminated in the dark cover of the Escalade. 

Dick purses his lips and grabs the bag. He pulls out his uniform, boots and utility belt. The gun he shot Jason with is still sitting snugly in his jacket. He checks the safety and sets the Glock beside him. He kicks off his shoes and pants and wrestles with the suit in the cramped space of the SUV. 

Once he’s finally dressed, he notices that they’ve reached the outskirts of Barcelona. 

“Did you review the contract specifications I sent over?” Slade asks, placing the tablet in his lap and reaching next to him. He picks up Dick’s gun and starts to give it a once over. He turns it over in his hands and runs his hand down the grip. 

“Yes,” Dick supplies, suddenly aware of the change in the air. 

“We don’t have time to discuss it now, just know I need you to focus and get the job done.” Slade’s face is hard. He flips the gun and grabs the barrel, offering Dick to take the grip. He reaches out for it but Slade pulls back. “Understood?” 

Dick smiles thinly. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter here, but I hope you enjoyed!


	9. Eight

They creep through the safe house, Deathstroke leading and Renegade on his six. Getting in was the easy part. For such a high profile gangbanger, outer security was sparse with only a few men milling about the perimeter. 

As they’ve gone along, they’ve been leaving a trail of explosives. 

_“Once our job’s done, we blow the place sky high,” Slade had said in the car._

They pass through a corridor and into a large industrial garage filled with giant black shipping containers, steel tables and several small couches. Deathstroke holds up a fist, stopping Renegade from going further. He taps his ear. 

Dick angles his head to hear. There’s a dull thudding coming from the other side of the garage. He peeks around Slade and sees several men laying on the ground, already out cold. He squares his shoulders and grips his gun tightly. Slade’s appears to come to the same conclusion he has and pulls out his second firearm. 

Whoever else is there won’t be able to match them in combat, that he’s confident. His instincts scream at him to pull out his escrima sticks and ditch the gun. His hand twitches but he keeps his grip on the weapon firm.

The thudding from earlier has erupted into the echo of full force punches. 

“He’s here!” a voice roars in Spanish. 

The static feedback of a walkie responds. 

“Backup requested!” the same voice demands. 

Slade backs up to one of the stacked black containers facing towards the hallway they had just passed through. A symphony of boots starts to grow louder and the men begin to pour out into the room. 

Slade’s guns fire and the first man drops. The others behind him scatter in opposite directions. Heavy AR-15’s are in their possession but they don’t return the fire. Dick’s gun lowers. 

He sees it in the last moments. A scrawny man with tanned skin and a buzz cut has his assault rifle pointed right at him, ready to shoot. His muscles instinctively react and the man collapses, a bleeding gunshot wound visible in his shoulder. 

In the time it takes him to process the situation, Slade’s gunned down the rest of the men. They’re almost piled on top of one another, each with matching gunshot wounds in their chests.

The man Dick took out stares at them in terror. He flips onto his stomach and starts to claw his way back to the hallway with his good arm. 

“Take care of it,” Slade commands coldly. Slade reloads his gun and starts to slink towards the other side of the warehouse. 

Dick’s surprisingly calm watching the man struggle. He checks over his shoulder to see Slade nearly out of view. Slade turns back and cuts his hand through the air. “Now.”

Dick raises his gun and shoots. He jogs to follow Slade. 

There’s silence now, nothing but the slight sound of their steps. The generator groans, shutting off the overhead lights. It’s not pitch black but without the lights, it leaves their vision compromised. They continue forward, activating the night mode in their masks. 

“Infrared on,” Deathstroke instructs Dick. He activates it and his surroundings become encompassed by the surreal blue background colored with fading heat signatures. 

They follow a trail of fading orange to the other side of the garage. The shipping containers in this area are stacked nearly to the ceiling. 

The slightest clash from above brings their attention to the ceiling. Slade steps carefully around him and signals for him to keep watch around them while he searches upwards. Dick shifts his hold on his gun, arm slightly bent with his hands cupping the grip. 

Something sharp comes flying through the air, lodging itself on the outside of his right hand. 

“Shit,” he curses, dropping the gun. It clatters loudly in the vastness of the garage. He turns infrared off to try and get a look at his hand. 

Deathstroke turns to him quickly, his agitation palpable. “Find the target, finish the job,” he orders, his voice dangerously low. “I’ll take care of this.”

He grabs the object lodged in Dick’s hand and pulls hastily. The stinging pain is nothing compared to the pain he feels when he sees it. The black batarang flashes in the darkness, slick with his blood. The garage starts to wrap around him as his heart rate spikes. He tries to draw in a deep breath but it’s shaky and shallow leaving him with a heavy weight on his chest. 

For the first time all night, Dick feels the cold twinge of dread spread throughout his body. 

“Did you know he would be here?” Dick hisses. 

Slade lets out a harsh breath and tosses the batarang on the ground. 

Dick laughs bitterly. “Fuck you.” 

A bit of hysteria tries to surface but Dick fights it as he stares down Slade. Slade stares back, the black and orange mask encompassing his features, but Dick doesn't need to see his face to know that Slade's unapologetic. 

A gunshot echoes and both of their attention is captured in the direction of the shot. 

“Go,” Slade commands quietly, scanning the area. 

Dick swallows the lump in his throat. Slade’s odd behavior earlier makes sense now, knowing Batman was on your tail was enough to unnerve anyone. Doesn’t excuse him from not warning him, he may have been ready to face Jason, but Bruce? That was a whole different story. All he can do now is ignore the odd sense of betrayal and pray that Slade can handle Batman long enough for him to both complete the job and escape without a huge confrontation. 

He runs forward, scooping his gun off the floor as he goes. 

There, tucked in the corner of the garage sits a small office that’s nearly blocked in by shipping containers. He would have missed it had it not been for the night vision in his mask. If Dick were a betting man, he’d go all in on the guess that that’s where he’ll find their target. 

Dick glances back at Slade, who’s sheathing his guns and pulling out his sword. A flash grenade lights up the area and Dick’s vision goes white. Blotches of light litter his vision as he tries to blink away the blindness. He switches his vision back from night mode. It helps, but not much.

“Dick.”

All at once, the sound of his voice brings him crashing to the surface of reality. His vision’s still returning, but he can see Batman’s imposing silhouette in front of him. 

“Bruce, nice of you to stop by,” he says facetiously. “I’d love to catch up but I’m, uh, I’m kinda working.” He curls his lip sheepishly. 

The sound of Slade shuffling behind him brings him back to the mission. Here’s an opportunity to prove himself. Dick kneels.

“Sorry, just gotta tie my shoes,” he says. It's a total lie because his boots don’t have exposed laces, which Batman sees through immediately. But it’s enough time for Slade to launch himself over his back aiming his sword towards Batman. The clash of metal meeting reinforced armor leaves a hollow sound in his ears. 

He picks himself off the ground and runs towards the little office. He reactivates the heat signature mode and just as he’d guessed, there’s a warm body huddled beneath one of the desks. 

He reaches the door and gives it a shove, meeting resistance. He cracks his neck and steps back, he gives the door a hard kick and the hinges creak dangerously. A second kick is all it takes for the door to give and he charges in. 

The door opens up to a small room, about ten feet across both ways.

The office’s dim lighting outlines a few chairs that, up until Dick’s forced entrance, had barricaded the entrance. He keeps night mode activated and spots a large expensive mahogany desk in the far right corner. 

And there he is, Slade and his ticket to three hundred grand (which in Dick’s opinion is too much for a gangbanger like Deboeck). 

He’s on the ground in the far right corner, praying. He peers up at Dick and scowls, anger and grief painted in his features.

“What are you waiting for motherfucker?” he snaps in Spanish. 

He scans Deboeck and pulls up stats in the lenses of his mask. His heart rate’s slightly elevated at 140 beats per minute, which given the situation is a lot lower than what Dick expected.

He would’ve thought this guy would be a little more terrified. The fact that he’s not, earns him a point of respect. It’s a common saying that a man shows you who he really is in the moments before his death and this guy was a son a bitch, through and through. 

“I’ll give you a choice,” he returns in Spanish. He throws him his gun and the other man catches it clumsily. “Either I shoot you in the head and be done with it, or you do my dirty work for me.”

Deboeck checks to see if it’s loaded and then points the gun back at Dick. 

“And what’s to stop me from shooting you?” he challenges. He’s a sweaty man, his maroon collared shirt soaked through with it. Now that Dick’s turned his attention to the guy’s appearance, he realizes he’s not very well kept either. The stubble on his face is patchy across his face and his brown hair’s outgrown past his ears. A gold chain hangs loosely around his collar. Dick eyes him lazily. 

“You do that and the guy I work for will come in here and draw out your death for hours. Whereas I, the gentleman I am, am giving you the dignity of choice. Choose wisely.” He keeps his tone light, but expression closed off. 

The gun shakes in his hand and time seems to stand still. Batman and Deathstroke’s fight covers the background noise, growing closer. 

A loud clash resounds just outside and Slade yells something indistinguishable – whether or not it’s directed at him or Bruce he isn’t sure.

“Better think quick,” he says, peaking out of the door. “He’s coming.” 

Deboeck looks nervously towards the door and back at the weapon. His frown turns into a hard line and he looks Dick head on. 

“Fuck you,” he says, raising the gun. 

The gunshot nearly deafens him in the cramped space, but he manages to duck the shot. Dick opens his mouth in disbelief and raises his eyebrows incredulously, pulling out his .45 and firing a bullet that lodges itself in Deboeck’s sweaty, grimy head. Blood starts to trickle down his face painting a grim smile in the folds of his neck. His body slumps back.

“Asshole,” Dick mutters in disgust. He closes the distance between him and the body and swipes the gun from Deboeck’s limp grasp. He turns around, examining his gun and holstering the .45. 

He looks up to see that the door’s open with a rather unwelcome shadow. 

Everything slows in that moment and all he can hear is his own shallow breathing. Shame swells in his stomach. “Sorry you had to see that,” he says weakly. 

Batman’s mouth is slightly parted as if he’s about to speak. He closes it into a fine line instead and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. 

He takes a step forward and Dick raises the gun. Batman stops, his gaze narrowing at the weapon pointed at him. 

“You’re coming with me Dick,” he says. His frame nearly takes up the whole space of the door, blocking his escape. 

“Where’s Slade?” he returns quickly, eyes darting behind Bruce. Dick may have a chance taking him down but those odds would increase tenfold if he had Slade backing him up. 

Dick steps sideways, trying to lure Batman away from the door. If he could just get through it wouldn’t come to a fight. 

Batman moves with Dick, always keeping the distance between them but never far from the door. He says nothing, his expression contempt and stern. 

The weight of the gun starts to bother Dick, not because of its heaviness, but because of where he’s pointing it. The man who partially raised him, the one who’s responsible for indoctrinating him into this life and the one who gave him purpose when he needed it most. He lowers it as he feels the emotions he’s spent so long avoiding come back to a vicious surface. 

“Come home,” Bruce says with the smallest hint of pleading. 

Emptiness opens up in Dick and he longs to say okay and to give up. 

Bruce steps closer. “It’s not too late. We can still fix this.” The handcuffs clatter as he holds them out. “Turn yourself in.” 

_So close,_ Dick thinks. Bruce almost got him, he had been so ready just seconds ago to drop the gun and follow Batman to Gotham. Turn himself in? Is he fucking crazy? A million things to say run through his mind, each one more insulting than the first. The unburdening of emotions from before seems stupid now, making him weak. 

The smallest flash behind Bruce captures Dick’s attention. 

“Not until I’m done,” he spits out. 

He raises the gun and takes a shot over Batman’s right shoulder. Batman jolts sideways, leaving the doorway unblocked. Dick sprints towards the opening but then Batman’s arm shoots out and makes contact across his chest, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He drops the gun and twists Batman’s arm forwards, leveraging his grip with his other hand firmly placed on his neck. Batman doubles over and flips Dick onto the floor. 

He lands in an awkward crouch but uses the momentum to jump forwards with a punch in Batman’s gut. But Bruce is quick and blocks it, grabbing his wrist and twisting it backward. His hand throbs from where the batarang from before lodged itself.

Dick grits his teeth in pain but refuses to cry out. Dismay starts to fill him when he realizes he can’t beat Bruce in this space, he needs room to move. 

Just as his grief sets in, Slade’s lithe form barricades into Batman’s back, sending him flying towards the dead body. Both relief and shame enter his complicated set of emotions as he backs away from the two men. 

Slade’s uniform is slashed and torn, with blood pouring down his left side. He’s favoring his right hand as he exchanges blows with Batman. Dick can see Bruce try to take advantage of Slade’s wound and it seems to be working. Bruce grabs Slade’s left wrist as he aims for a punch and gives a hard twist. 

Dick glances over at the gun by the door and somersaults around them to pick it up. They’re too close to get a shot that’ll be helpful, he keeps moving the gun to line it up. His mouth twists into a snarl as he holsters his weapon and dives towards them. 

Slade and him effortlessly fall in synch as Dick goes low and Slade goes high. There’s blood dribbling from Bruce’s leg, probably from Slade and his earlier battle. He jabs the bleeding spot and Bruce’s leg buckles. Slade aims an uppercut towards his jaw and Bruce falls backward into the desk. 

Slade drops a smoke pellet and turns to him. “Let’s go.” 

Dick doesn’t spare a look towards Bruce and sprints out into the garage. Slade’s heavy footsteps follow behind him but all he can focus on is his escape from Batman. He takes notice of just how hurt Slade is by the fact that he keeps the lead until they reach their vehicle. 

Slade slides into the driver’s seat while Dick’s hand hovers over the door handle. He looks back at the warehouse. 

“Get in,” Slade commands.

He reaches into his pocket and his fingers wrap around a heavy cylinder object. He pulls the trigger out. Peering through the darkness, he tries to spot something, anything. 

“Now,” Slade yells, his tolerance for disobedience at an all-time low. 

Dick takes a deep breath and gets into the car. Slade peels out, leaving the warehouse behind them in a cloud of dust. Once they’ve covered enough distance, Slade nods at him and Dick thumbs the trigger. 

Hopefully, it gave Bruce some time to get out, he thinks as he pushes the button. The sky lights up behind them in a brilliance of orange and red. The smoke rises upwards, lighting a beacon for the police to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I look forward to your feedback <3


	10. Nine

Bruce huffs, trying to breathe through what’s most certainly a broken rib. Each breath he sucks in leaves a stinging sensation that reverberates throughout his chest. 

He places his right hand on the desk that Deathstroke threw him into and hoists himself up, gritting his teeth. His weight shifts forward and he sets his feet onto the ground and stands. 

The dead man’s body is already starting to leave a foul smell, most likely defecation. Bruce stares at him momentarily. But he doesn’t see the body, not really, he sees the handiwork of what Dick’s turned into. 

Jason had his chance to get through to Dick and he failed. Then Bruce failed too. Dick was gone and the person who replaced him was just a rotting memory of him. The universe’s cruel way to taunt Bruce yet again. 

Bruce steps away and out into the garage.

A red light starts to beep on his gauntlet. He hesitantly presses it.

“Yes?”

“Batman, we need you here,” Commissioner Gordon sounds frazzled over the communication line. 

“Can it wait,” Bruce says, stepping over a body. 

“I’m afraid not; it’s the Riddler. He’s holding the congressman and his wife. And none of us have been able to get in and solve the damn riddles he’s set up. Red Robin tried to intervene but you’re the only one he’ll let in.”

Bruce isn’t generally one to complain, but going to Gotham and dealing with Riddler is the last thing in the world he wants to do. He should stay here, trying to find Dick. There’s something else going on here and he needs to get to the bottom of this. 

“Batman?” Gordon’s voice asks, somehow far away. 

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says finally, hanging up. 

He limps forward. 

“Alfred, the jet at my coordinates,” he says into his earpiece. 

His left leg buckles a bit as he walks through the eerily quiet garage. 

“Sir? Am I expecting one or two?” Alfred’s patient voice hides little of his hope. 

As Bruce walks through the carnage and still bleeding men, he finds his vision swimming. He doesn’t answer Alfred. His thoughts still too wrapped up in the night’s events. What did he witness? Knowing what he knew, he didn’t think Dick capable of any of it. It was only tonight, after walking into Dick’s outstretched hand gripping the end of a gun and a dead man on the other side, could Bruce see the real trouble. His hope made him believe that Slade had full control and was forcing Dick to do it. 

His eyes… the coldness that enveloped Bruce when he stared at them. The normally bright blue irises appeared grey and hard, a far cry from when he was a boy. Even after his parents were killed, there was always a bit of optimism tucked away in his eyes. A hope of a better future… 

Out of the darkness, a hand shoots out of the darkness and grabs hold of his ankle. Bruce looks down to see a man sporting a buzz cut, blood oozing sluggishly out of his chest. 

“Please help me,” he says, his Spanish accent choking his words. 

In the silence, a slight beep starts to fill the air. Bruce activates his cowl and his vision fills with the analytical detective mode. He spots a small box tucked in the corner and then looks around to spot a few more.

He knows what those are and he knows them well. 

The stranger gasps up at him as he pulls him off the ground. With his limp and the other man’s dead weight, it’s slow going towards the exit. His leg starts throbbing with misuse as they hobble on. The door’s in sight but they’re running out of time, those bombs are going off soon whether or not they’re in the blast radius or not.

Giving the last that he has, he thrusts open the door and shoves the man outside. He topples over, screaming in pain from his gunshot wound. He lands on his side and starts to crawl in the dirt toward safety. Bruce grunts as he leans down and takes hold of his arms, dragging him further away.

The first explosion wracks the building; the foundation's already giving into the blast. 

He dives down to the man and covers him with his cape. They made it far enough to be free of immediate danger, but not far enough that debris wouldn’t be able to hit them. 

The rest of the explosions follow in a dangerous flare of unbridled energy that seems to last hours. The bleeding man cradles into him, his eyes bleary with tears and saliva mixed with blood dribbling from his lips. Soon, all prior sound disappears and when it does, Bruce looks up to a blazing inferno. The fire kisses the nighttime sky as it covers the whole area in a bizarre afternoon light. 

The sky has his attention but the sound of the other man crawling away brings him back. 

Bruce steps in front of him, his looming figure blocking the flames. “What happened?” he asks in Spanish. 

He hides his face in his crossed arms stretched in front of him. Bruce presses his foot into his shoulder. 

“What happened,” he says again, not asking. 

Fresh tears leave track marks on his face as he looks up at the figure above. 

“The hitmen came,” he starts, “We came across them in the garage after reports that the, uh, the Batman was caught on camera.” 

Bruce stays silent, staring at the man and prompting him to continue by applying pressure to his chest with his foot. He wheezes and begins again.

“I saw the smaller one first, the one without the full face mask. I aimed, but he saw me first and shot.” The fear bleeds into his voice and his eyes shift to the burning building. “The other one murdered everyone else and instructed him to do the same to me, to finish. But h-he didn’t. He fired a shot near my head once the other one had become preoccupied with something else. He told me to play dead.” 

Bruce breathes a small bit of hope as he listens to the criminal’s words. Dick’s not entirely under Slade’s influence. There’s still hope. He can be brought back. 

“That it?” he asks, wanting there to be more. 

“Yes, yes I promise,” he says earnestly. Bruce removes his foot.

The droning whir of sirens fill the air and he spots the red lights from afar. 

“Alfred, that jet?” 

The dirt-covered man beneath him looks at him in confusion. 

“Pick up in 30 seconds,” Alfred responds. 

Bruce steps away, leaving the man to bleed until the paramedics arrive. The roar of the Batjet shakes the dirt beneath him and he stares up, watching as it comes into view. It hovers above him, the cockpit door opening with a hiss. 

He stares down at his bleeding leg but then uses his grappling gun to lift himself into the jet. Once seated, he opens the small white first aid kit and begins to inspect. If it’s not too serious, he can fly straight back to Gotham. Slade managed to get a few good hits in, including the stab wound on Bruce’s left leg. 

“Sir?” Alfred’s face greats him in the broadcasted hologram hovering over his control wheel. 

Bruce doesn’t look up. “Yes?”

“Master Jason has requested a ride back to Gotham,” he pauses, seemingly cautious about continuing. “With Mr. Harper.”

Bruce stops and looks up exasperated. “Alfred there’s not a lot of room. This jet seats two at most.” 

Alfred smiles tightly. “I thought you’d mention that. So I took the liberty of offering to send the larger Batplane.” 

Bruce removes his cowl and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, that’s fine.”

He glances up at the disapproval coloring Alfred’s features. 

“Are they alright?” he asks. 

“Aside from Master Jason’s gunshot wound, both are stable. Although he will need surgery to repair the damage.”

The pit of his stomach lurches when he remembers that Dick shot Jason. He always expected it to be the other way around; Jason was the angry, unpredictable one. Now here he was, working with Jason to bring Dick back from the brink. These are funny circumstances in a terrible situation. 

He chokes out a breath and it doesn’t sound right. 

“Sir, are you well enough to make the journey back to Gotham?” Alfred asks with concern. 

“I’m fine, just get me home.”

Alfred’s expression goes soft. “Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quality Dick and Slade chapter's coming up next week. See ya then!


	11. Ten

Dick can’t sleep. He hasn’t slept well for the past five days. 

He tosses and turns endlessly but every time he shuts his eyes, memories smack his consciousness and his eyes burst open in panic. During the day, he can keep it at bay and distract himself. But nighttime comes and so do the reminders of the horrible things he’s done. 

Dick’s done everything to try to keep his mind preoccupied enough to allow him to sleep. He’s counted backward from 100, then he counts backward from 500, then he tries counting backward from 1,000. Nothing. He can never tell how much time has passed because he refuses to look at the bright red numbers on the alarm. 

So he always gives up and opens his eyes. He lies on his back and stares up the dark vastness of the ceiling. 

The confrontations with Jason and Bruce shook him. His plan was easy to follow when he didn’t have people chasing him, telling him that he should be handling this differently. He was prepared to give up his freedom, his morals, his everything to rid the world of Damian’s killers. 

Their presence clouds his decision to follow Slade and highlights the gravity of his actions. 

He closes his eyes. 

_"Grayson, what are you doing?”_

_He looks up at the perpetually hotheaded son of Bruce Wayne standing awkwardly in the doorway. Dick’s in his room at the manor, standing in front of his floor length mirror. He’s dressed in one of his nicer Tom Ford suits with the two-button front. He’s nearly ready to go but the cast on his left arm is hindering his attempt to put on his tie._

_“Damian, thought you’d be with Bruce on League business?” he asks, turning to look at him and dropping his hands._

_“Grounded,” Damian says, using air quotes. He steps into the room and arches his eyebrow at the mangled mess around his neck._

_Dick smiles softly. “I can’t tie it with one hand, mind helping me out?”_

_Damian rolls his eyes and steps up to him. He only comes up to Dick’s chest but he still has growing to do and will most likely surpass Dick’s height when he’s older._

_“You should learn to be more self-sufficient Grayson,” he chides as he reaches upwards to fix his tie. “Where are you going anyways?”_

_“A funeral,” Dick says simply._

_“Whose funeral?” Damian asks as he finishes securing the tie._

_Damian stares intently at Dick’s face._

_“Someone who was there when I got this,” he holds up his cast and turns to look in the mirror._

_Damian tilts his head. “Funerals are miserable, I don’t see the point in attending one.”_

_Dick reaches for his jacket that’s draped over the bed and threads his right hand through the sleeve and pulls it over his left shoulder. “It’s a chance to grieve and pay your respects.”_

_It seems as though Damian is digesting those words as he steps beside Dick to look in the mirror._

_“Grief and remorse are a disease of the weak,” he locks eyes with Dick in the mirror. “You wage war and destroy your enemies before they destroy you.”_

The memory shocks him and his eyes are now wide open. It was such a simple exchange that happened years ago. Damian had only been Robin for a few months and hadn’t quite softened up yet.

He doesn’t want to remember any of this so he gets up, changing the routine of the past five sleepless nights. His feet walk over the bare wooden floor over to his desk where his laptop sits idly. As he sits down and opens the top of his computer, his eyes are flushed with the brightness of blue light. 

Slade has all of the other computers completely monitored, but not this one. Dick spent meticulous hours toying with the software and fixing the code. Every once and a while he’ll use the laptop and activate Slade’s virtual tripwires just so Slade doesn’t have any unhelpful suspicions. A little suspicion is fine. If anything it keeps Slade less suspicious in an odd roundabout way. 

He logs on to his own secure net, plugging in the small USB. He developed it by painstakingly stealing small bits of both Batman’s (before he left) and Slade’s intel. Dick never uses this program for any other reason than to track down the monsters that took Damian’s life. It’s too risky to use it for more than a few minutes.

Either one of his mentors could find out and shut his access off. 

He types in their names. As he does so, the disgust comes rushing through him and a warm burn of anger settles in. 

The program he created pings off of several government satellites, a few from the JLA and Slade’s network. So far, Infinity Island has been quiet. No Lazarus activity reported, or really any activity at all. Ra’s is too smart to easily track, the centuries he’s been alive have taught him invaluable skills in hiding. But Talia was an easier target, she was much more brazen than her father. She’s always trying to push her agenda, even if it means more exposure. 

His program beeps suddenly, startling him. Talia al Ghul sighting in Berlin. 

His mouth twists into a small grin, his features turning hateful. If he could get to Talia, he could get to Ra’s. 

Dick exits out of his software and stands from his chair slowly, looking at the time. It’s 4 a.m. 

He stretches his arms outward and an exaggerated yawn comes from his lips. He bends down, keeping his legs straight and putting his palms on the floor. He holds there for 30 seconds, breathing in and out slowly. He takes his hands off the ground and joins them behind his back, his back popping in a sweet release. 

He lazily pulls on black sweat shorts and a tank. He grabs his headphones off his nightstand and opens his door. 

He arrives at the gym a few moments later, but he’s not alone. Of course the bastard would be up too, why wouldn’t he be when all Dick wanted was a quiet workout alone? 

Slade grunts as he gets a jab in on the punching bag, sweat glistening down his neck and soaking his shirt. The fading pink from the injury on the left side of Slade’s back is visible through his damp shirt. It’s almost completely healed. _Must be nice to have regenerative healing capabilities_ , Dick thinks.

He raps his knuckles against the doorframe and Slade stops hitting and reaches his hands out to steady the swaying bag that hangs from the ceiling. 

“Grayson,” he greets.

“Wilson,” he says back. “Up so early?”

“Need to be if I’m going to get us out of this mess you put us in,” Slade says, unwrapping the gauze from his hands. “You showed weakness to Batman, meaning he’s still going to be after us. Which makes me wonder if that’s what you wanted all along. I can’t be worried about your formal loyalties.” 

Dick threads a hand through his hair in annoyance. “You’re the one who didn’t give me a heads up about him.” 

Slade tilts his head. “You would’ve been distracted and there was a chance he may not show up. I was willing to take that chance and have you focus on the mission objective.”

Dick walks towards Slade and intentionally bumps his right shoulder as he passes him towards the gauze and athletic tape. Slade catches his shoulder and tries to toss him to the floor. Dick wraps his left hand around Slade to try and leverage his attack. He pushes Slade forward to the open space of the gym and huffs at him as he watches Slade narrow his eye. 

“You’ve always been bad at respect,” Slade scolds. “I keep trying to teach you that lesson and yet you never learn.” 

Dick grits his teeth, trying to hold back the biting remark that his 16-year-old self would say. Instead, he steps closer to Slade and says, “I have done everything you’ve asked of me. But I refuse to be a mindless slave that agrees with you 100 percent of the time.”

Slade stares him down and his upper lip twitches. He comes forward with his right hand raised in a fist. Dick slightly bends his knees and tumbles out of the way. Now Dick’s standing where Slade was a few seconds prior.

Slade comes back at him again and aims a kick to Dick’s midsection. Dick catches Slade’s leg and throws his leg to the side, hoping to knock his balance. Slade falters for a moment but returns with a knee to Dick’s stomach. Dick doubles down and misses as Slade’s fist comes through the air. 

Dick clenches his fists and uses his anger to propel him forward. He lands two hits on the sides of Slade’s face and goes for an uppercut. Slade grabs his forearm and gives it a twist so harshly he’s almost sure to get some sort of break. Slade uses his grasp to force Dick to his knees. 

Just as Dick’s about to wiggle his arm free, Slade says, “Don’t.”

Dick’s eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Let this serve as your final lesson on respect,” Slade says, twisting Dick’s forearm firmly. “You want to train with me? To avenge Damian Wayne and kill those responsible?” 

Dick’s eyes open wide.

Slade cocks his head. “Oh yes, I know about that.”

Dick gapes up and says, “How?”

Slade smiles. “You thought that I would let you meet up with Jason Todd without bugging you first?”

Dick turns his face away and curses. He had checked for bugs and saw nothing. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was an idiot to believe he’d secured any trust with Slade. 

“It seems you still have a lot to learn, Dick,” Slade says. “So listen up and look at me.”

Dick meets Slade’s gaze with narrowed eyes.

“I own you now, so you’ll do anything I tell you to,” Slade says. “You do anything to piss me off and I’ll send a little warning to old Ra’s and ruin your plans, making all of this, all of this killing, worth nothing. Got it?” 

Dick’s heart lurches. His free hand tightens into a fist but then his anger leaves him and he lowers his head. 

“Yes,” he says quietly. 

Slade tightens his grip and Dick grits his teeth in discomfort. 

“Not quite.” 

A tear escapes his eye from the intense pain in his arm. 

“Yes sir,” he breathes out. 

Slade releases his hold and Dick starts cradling his arm immediately. “There we go.”

Dick musters up all the hatred he can and stares up at Slade. 

“Go see if Wintergreen is up, you’ve probably fractured your arm,” Slade says casually, walking out of the gym. 

Dick watches as Slade exits and sits there, wiping a tear he refuses to acknowledge. He takes a deep breath in and stands shakily. 

His mouth tightens into a fine line. 

Slade will pay for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Grief and remorse are a disease of the weak. You wage war and destroy your enemies before they destroy you.” -quote taken from Batman & Robin (2009-) #1
> 
> See ya next week!


	12. Eleven

“Stop fidgeting,” Slade snaps.

“You know this is a stupid idea right?” he replies, smoothing his jacket. 

Slade smiles as another man dressed in a tuxedo walks by. The smile slips after he passes and Slade elbows Dick in the side. “What did we say about backtalk?”

Dick grins softly. “That’s part of my charm.”

Slade shakes his head. “Look sharp. Target’s approaching.” 

Dick straightens his shoulders and plasters a smile on his face. Walter Lanier struts forward, shaking hands with his guests and glancing in their direction. Dick turns to face Slade. 

“Whoa are you sure you want to donate that much?” he says, projecting his voice forward. 

Lanier walks towards them and stretches out his hand. “Hi there, I’m Walter Lanier. I don’t think I’ve met either of you before.”

Slade meets Lanier’s outstretched hand with his own. “Nice to meet you, my name is James Campbell and this is my son, Ryan.”

Dick meets Lanier’s gaze. “Nice to meet you.”

Lanier inspects him slowly but returns with, “You as well Ryan.” He glances at Slade's empty glass. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves. Please have another glass of champagne.” 

The words ‘no thank you’ is about to grace his mouth but Slade speaks first. 

“That would be great. I was actually telling my son that I’d like to make a charitable contribution to your cause. Helping displaced children is a passion of mine and I’d love to give back in any way I could.”

Lanier chuckles and says, “That would be so kind of you, but donations are handled at the front with one of my secretaries.”

He starts towards another group of people but then Dick interrupts with, “Oh sir, this isn’t any other donation. We’re prepared to donate in the millions.”

The slight smile on Lanier’s face widens into a cheeky grin. He scans Slade and when he nods, Lanier says, “Well, please follow me into my study and we can discuss the finer numbers.”

Lanier turns swiftly and beckons his hand to them. “This way.”

Slade nods at him and steps forward. Just as Dick is about to follow, his eyes catch on a familiar face. Dick clears his throat and grabs Slade’s arm. 

Slade turns around with a mild expression of annoyance. “What is it?”

“Selina Kyle’s here and she’s walking this way,” Dick says quietly. 

Lanier notices they’ve fallen behind and asks, “Something wrong gentlemen?” 

“No, my son here has just spotted one of his friends,” Slade answers. He looks at Dick and says, “Why don’t you say hello and I’ll begin talks with Mr. Lanier.”

Dick’s about to speak but then a hand grabs his shoulder, spinning him in the other direction. 

“Well well, didn’t expect to see you here Gra—“ she starts. 

Dick interrupts with a cough and puts his arm around her, steering her away from the curious eyes of Walter Lanier. 

“I’ll meet up with you later,” he says over his shoulder to Slade. 

Slade nods his head in understanding and catches pace with Lanier. 

Dick removes his arm from Selina and turns her gently to face him. She reaches up to his face and tenderly brushes a stray hair from his forehead.

“Now am I blind or was that Slade Wilson you’re chumming up with?” Selina says, eyebrow arching. 

“What are you doing in New York Selina?” he asks. 

She shrugs. "Just visiting."

“I didn’t think you stole from charities,” Dick says softly.

Selina narrows her eyes. “We both know Mr. Lanier isn’t donating that money to his charity, so technically it’s not stealing from a good cause.” 

Dick breathes through his nose and says, “As nice as it is to see you, I need to get back to…” he trails off, not wanting to admit his association with Slade. “Business,” he finishes with a tight-lipped smile. 

Selina’s expression softens and she grabs Dick’s hand. “I know what’s about to happen to dear old Walter. Whatever you’re mixed up in right now, you don’t have to do this.” 

Dick removes his hand from hers, and says, “Do me a favor and don’t mention you saw me to anyone – especially Bruce.” 

She looks at him with sad eyes. “Sure kid.” 

“Bye Selina,” he says, turning away. 

He leaves the exchange with an extraordinary feeling of guilt. Not that he and Selina were ever close, but the fact that she called him out has him restless. He told Slade this was a stupid idea, New York is too close to Gotham and he was bound to run into someone he knew at a charity gala. He’d attended so many with Bruce and after a while, you start running into the same people. 

It’d been a few years since he last went to an event with Bruce, but that’s not long enough for people to forget a face. Even if Selina doesn’t tell Bruce – which Dick fully expects her to despite her assurance – someone else here might have easily recognized him. 

There’s no doubt in Dick’s mind that their presence here was a calculated move on Slade’s behalf. Slade historically loves rubbing Bruce’s nose in the trouble Dick’s gotten into. Just ask Slade about the fight on top of Wayne Enterprises against the Titans. He doesn’t bother hiding his enjoyment. 

He walks out the large ballroom and in the direction he saw Slade head last. He passes a few guests wandering about in the hallways and eventually comes to two large oak doors that must be the study. 

He checks to see the red light on the cameras above are off and then knocks. 

“Come in,” a voice from the other side answers. 

He opens the heavy doors and steps into the study. It’s a grandiose room – much like the rest of the property – with large windows overlooking the glittering lights of the city. At the large mahogany desk, Lanier sits facing towards him. Slade has his hands and feet tied down and there’s duct tape stretched over Lanier’s lips. 

“There you are,” Slade says. He’s standing by one of the windows with his hands joined behind his back. “I was wondering when you’d finish your chat with Ms. Kyle.” 

Dick lifts his chin towards Lanier. “That was fast. Sure you need me for this?” 

Lanier’s eyes are wide and he’s shaking his head wildly and pulling his restraints, which shakes the chair. Slade steps towards him and puts his hands on the sides of the chair, keeping him still. 

“Make sure you get a clean shot,” Slade says. 

Dick reaches for his gun hidden in his suit. He grabs the silencer from his jacket pocket and starts screwing it onto his .45. 

Lanier starts thrashing again as tears and snot begins to dribble down his face. Dick would feel bad, but this man not only keeps the charity funds, but he’s also in the business of sex trafficking. He's a perfect fit for Dick's code. 

He aims at Lanier and Slade steps away, looking smugly at Dick. 

What happened a few weeks ago flashes through Dick’s mind and his hand starts slowly moving towards Slade. Their complicated history together defines so much of his life and he's finding himself struggling with their new dynamic. He thought he'd escaped the apprentice role. But with Slade's latest blackmail threatening his whole plan, he's right where he started.

His hand stops. He still needs Slade.

He readjusts his aim and fires a shot. Lanier stops thrashing immediately and everything is quiet. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he mutters. 

He knows that Slade didn’t miss the fact that he had pointed the weapon in his direction, but the hope is since he finished the job, Slade will let it slide. He unscrews the silencer and puts it in his jacket pocket, then securing the gun. 

Slade and him walk out of the room. The music from the ballroom is loud – just as planned – and no one spares them a second glance as they head to the elevators. 

The light blinks red and chimes announcing the arrival of the elevator. They step into the space and the doors close immediately behind them. 

“Nice work,” Slade says, staring straight ahead. 

“Yeah,” he replies, shoving his hands in his pockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi! Just a heads up, I'm vacationing right now so I may not be able to update next week. I'm hoping I'll be able to, but if not I'll definitely update soon! :)


	13. Twelve

Jason is the first person to admit that tracking Dick and get him to see the voice of reason was a big fat failure. At this point, he’s pretty much willing to do anything to pull Dick from the edge – even continuing to work with Bruce. 

Which is what led Jason to the Batcave, standing directly behind Bruce and watching as he pulls up archived footage. 

Bruce angles his head towards Jason without facing him. “There’s not much here.”

Jason tilts his head to one side dismissively. “Yeah well I’ve never seen it so if you could just play it, that’d be great.”

Bruce steps aside and gestures for Jason to come forward. He shoulders past Bruce and presses play. 

The large monitor shows an outside view of Wayne Enterprises. A few seconds pass and then Dick, dressed in his old, extremely colorful Robin costume, bursts through the roof and sprints forward. 

_God, he was small,_ Jason thinks. 

Dick skids forward, stopping abruptly while clutching his ear. 

“What’s he doing?” Jason asks.

“We think that's Slade giving Dick orders to go back,” Bruce answers, his hand tightening beside him. 

As Dick’s preoccupied, the Titans manage to get up on the opposite side of the roof. Cyborg calls out to him and Dick charges at him, jumping up and kicking Cyborg straight in the chest. Cyborg’s body goes flying through the air and both Raven and Starfire turn back to check on him. 

“Has Dick ever talked to you about this?” Jason asks, watching in abject disbelief. 

Bruce stills and says, “He refused to.”

Jason pauses the video as Dick runs past Starfire and starts attacking Raven. 

“You mean to seriously tell me you never got to the bottom of this? The so-called world’s greatest detective never pried the answers out?” Jason shouts, his agitation growing the longer he watches. “You’ll let that happen to Dick, so what do any of the rest of us matter?”

Bruce breathes through his nose and says, “He’d left to prove he could handle things on his own. I was letting him try.”

Jason scoffs. “So you just let a megalomaniac manipulate him so you could prove to yourself he still needed you.” 

“You think I don’t regret stepping in?” Bruce asks, walking away from the monitor. “I didn’t even know what had happened until it was over.” 

Jason glares at Bruce’s retreating form. “Yeah well, guess that’s another regret you’ll always live with,” he mutters. 

Bruce spares a glance backward and places the cowl onto his head. “Make sure to log out when you’re done. I need to see someone.” 

Bruce finishes suiting up and jumps into the batmobile. The engines fire up and roar throughout the cave as Bruce accelerates away. 

Jason shakes his head and raises his middle finger to the batmobile as it disappears from view. He presses play on the video and sits down into the chair in front of the monitor. 

Beast Boy, as a ram, charges into Dick and forces his body to collapse and roll to the edge of the building. The Titan’s faces are painted in shock but as Beast Boy tries to come forward, Dick fires off a flash bomb and Beast Boy goes flying. 

Knowing Dick’s fighting style, Jason takes in how he holds back. Interesting, considering there was no holding back when Dick shot him in France. 

The fight continues but just as it looks like Robin’s about to escape, Starfire flies into his view, blocking him with the threat of a starbolt. Jason watches as Dick hesitates but then raises his thermal blaster. Her hand unexpectedly drops as the anger leaves her face and Robin quickly does the same. 

There must be considerable feedback as Dick grabs his ear in pain. Within seconds, the Titan’s all start falling, their whole bodies light up in a gruesome orange and yellow. Jason’s never seen a body light up like that, not even when he spent that time with the al Ghuls. 

Starfire weakly reaches an arm towards him but Dick raises his arm and fires a shot at her with an odd mixture of hatred and regret. 

“Master Dick never talked to us about that time, but we know it weighed on him considerably,” Alfred says, appearing quietly behind Jason. Jason can’t tear his eyes off the screen but sees Alfred in the blackness of the screen. 

“I bet,” Jason mutters.

Alfred sets a drink beside him and hesitantly hovers over Jason’s shoulder. 

“Sure you want to watch this?” Jason asks, not even confident that he wants to. 

“If it helps him then yes,” Alfred answers. 

After the Titans wake and the orange and yellow splotches fade, they get a brief moment of respite before Dick starts attacking them with vicious precision. Jason keeps grimacing as the battle continues and breathes a heavy sigh when Dick’s cornered and throws explosive disks towards them. The giant LED lights start to sizzle and the A and the Y from the WAYNE sign fall on the Titans. 

There’s no footage on Dick escaping but when the dust settles and the Titan’s pick themselves up, he’s gone. 

Jason leans his head up against the back and the chair and stares at the ceiling. “Well as fun – and by fun, I mean thoroughly disturbing – to watch as that was, that didn’t help at all.” 

Alfred purses his lips and puts a finger to the monitor. “Maybe it did.”

“I’m not catching your drift Alf,” Jason says. 

“Rewind the footage,” Alfred says. 

Jason starts to rewind slowly until Alfred grabs his shoulder. With his other hand, Alfred starts pointing at the screen. “He actively attacks everyone except for one.” 

Alfred’s finger rests over Starfire. Dick has his thermal blaster aimed at her but misses his shot and hits the LED sign behind her. 

Jason pauses and watches closely. Sure enough, Dick avoids her as much as humanly possible. In the security footage, it’s not entirely noticeable because of the angles. 

“Huh,” he says absentmindedly. 

“She may be of some help,” Alfred says, stepping backward. “None of us here knows exactly what happened, but she does.” 

Jason twists the chair towards Alfred. “I don’t think she’ll be too keen on talking to me.”

Alfred smiles kindly. “She’s a kind heart. You’d be surprised how forgiving some people can be.” 

Jason covers his eyes with his hands and drags them slowly down, peeking at Alfred through his fingers. “Well I doubt she’ll talk to me over the phone.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.” 

Jason drops his hands and groans quietly. Alfred’s right of course. She might hang up immediately but it’s worth a try if it means getting some insight. Alfred bows his head delicately and steps away towards the elevator to the manor. 

Jason swivels back to the monitor where Dick’s frozen on screen. Jason has the feed paused as he has the blaster pointed at the Titans. He exits out of it. There’s no other information he can get from the feed without some inside knowledge from someone who was there. 

He starts keying in the contact information from the Titan’s Tower. His hand hovers over the call button that connects him with a direct line to the tower. The secure line didn’t exist while Dick was on the team; it was only after Dick started to come around more and patch things up with Bruce that the gap was bridged. 

“Fuck it,” Jason says and reaches for the red helmet. He latches it on and then reaches over to press the call button. 

The callback tone rings dully and goes on for several seconds before a notification pops up that says ‘securing connection’. Jason just hopes that whoever’s on the receiving end doesn’t know who he is. He might get a better chance of reaching through to Starfire that way. 

It could be someone new that’s unaware of Jason’s history with the team. The Titan’s membership roster changes all of the time these days. The originals – aside from Dick and Cyborg – are still running the show but Jason hasn’t kept up with who’s been leading the team. 

The connection goes through and the person who answers has on a full-coverage black mask with blue accents around the eyes. 

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” Jason asks. 

“I could say the same to you, this is Batman’s line,” he replies shortly. Two elongated bug-like arms peek out from his back but he wears no insignia.

“Who is it?” a voice in the background asks. 

“He hasn’t said,” the kid answers. 

She comes into view then, her vivid red hair curling softly around her orange face. Her soft expression hardens quickly when she takes in Jason’s mask.

“I’ll take care of this Jaime.” She crosses her arms tightly, her expression turning sour. 

Jaime, apparently, starts to leave and says, “You got it jefa.” 

“What do you want Jason?” Her voice is low and serious. 

Jason pauses, unsure of how to start. “Have you heard from Dick lately?”

A line appears between her brows, the animosity melting from her face. “No,” she says apprehensively. “Why?” 

Jason takes a deep breath inward. “What can you tell me about him and Deathstroke?”

She puts a hand to her mouth. “What’s going on?”

He runs his tongue along his inner cheek. “I shouldn’t say, I just need to know what happened between them all those years ago.” 

Her eyes flicker with anger and she shakes her head. “No, tell me what’s going on first and maybe then I’ll tell you.” 

Jason clenches his jaw tightly and then releases slowly to speak. “Dick’s working for Deathstroke.” 

Her expression lights up in a mask of confusion and shock. She turns to look behind her and then says, “We should talk in person.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to fit in some writing time this week woo! I may not get so lucky next week in terms of updating but I'll do my best :)
> 
> jefa = boss in Spanish
> 
> P.S. Starfire has learned to speak English more fluently, hence the more fluency than the cartoon.


	14. Thirteen

The apartment in New York is one of Dick’s favorite properties that they’ve stayed at. The bedrooms are plush and spacious, cloaking Dick in a comfortable distance away from Slade. Despite it being in a populous city, it’s also one of the heavily secured places Slade owns. 

When Dick walks into the apartment, he’s met with large, thick glass windows covering the west wall. The first level encompasses the decently sized kitchen and living room, a small bath and a training room. 

The stairs are tucked in the corner by the front door. The white marble steps spiral upwards to the second level where the office space and bedrooms are. 

Dick’s favorite spot, where he’s currently sitting, is the sectional sofa where he can prop up his legs, with the right amount of sunlight hitting him and a view of both the door and staircase. 

Slade’s left him there alone for a few hours, giving Dick the perfect opportunity to do more research on Talia’s last whereabouts. 

She moves quickly, making it nearly impossible to keep track of her. Slade may think he has full control over Dick, but he’s completely unaware of the fact that Dick’s been stealing data from him. Sure, Slade knows about Dick’s ulterior motive about joining him but that’s a minor setback. 

The main goal’s still the same and it always will be. 

He logs onto his computer and opens up the software. With Slade keeping a close eye on him, it’s been nearly impossible to monitor her movements. He has her name typed in in seconds and the small loading circle lights up, slowly moving around and around. 

**NO RESULTS**

Dick’s eyes flare up in anger and he slams a hand down next to the computer. He just had her! If it weren’t for that contract, he could have found her by now. The door handle jiggles suddenly then, bringing Dick away from his rage and replacing it with a cold fear of being exposed.

He shuts the laptop quickly and lounges backward on the couch, acting as casual as possible. 

Slade enters the apartment and a second figure follows him. Slade didn’t mention anyone would be coming back with him.

Dick sits up and locks eyes with Slade and then looks back at Lex Luthor standing behind him. Lex, dressed in a suit that’s worth more than some people’s cars, tilts his head curiously at him. 

Dick’s mouth drops slightly as he looks between the two men. 

“Lex, this is Dick,” Slade says and walks past Dick towards the kitchen. 

Dick stands up, his mouth running incredibly dry as he approaches Lex. “Nice to meet you,” he says calmly even though all he wants to do is bolt. 

Lex looks down at him and says, “Do I know you?”

Dick’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No.”

Lex doesn’t take his eyes off Dick as he walks towards Slade.

“Dick’s been working for me for the past several months,” Slade explains. 

“Ah,” Luther hums, shifting his attention to the black briefcase he’s holding. He holds it outwards to Slade. “So I assume this is why you brought me all the way out here.”

Slade reaches forward and takes it from Luthor’s grasp, a bemused look overtaking his features. “Well, this does concern the boy. If he’s to take over for me one day he should learn the proper channels to get things done.”

Dick skirts around Luthor and stands to the right of Slade. “What’s happening here?” Dick asks, his voice low.

“What’s happening here,” Slade announces, “is Luthor found some information I think you’d find rather interesting.”

“Do you have an office Slade?” Luthor asks, eyes wandering the open space of the kitchen. He strolls over to the cabinets and lazily opens one, staring back at Slade in discontent.

Slade lip twitches but other than that he completely ignores Luthor’s rude behavior. Dick side-eyes Slade. For Slade to brush that off, Luthor must have something he really wants.

“We won't need the office,” Slade says. “We can gather over the kitchen island.”

He gestures towards the counter space that’s in the center of the room.

Luthor’s eyebrows go up indifferently. “Very well,” he drawls slowly.

Slade sets the briefcase down with a loud thud as Luthor steps up to the island. Dick realizes then that he’s sandwiched between Luthor and Slade as they gather around. He shifts, trying to make more room for himself but Slade draws him closer by putting his hand on his shoulder. 

“You’ll want to be up close for this,” Slade says, an almost imperceptible twinkle of pleasure in his eye. 

Slade moves his arm then and moves to open the briefcase. Dick can’t help but wonder what Slade will reveal in the suitcase. Will it be a plan to take down League members that he’s forced to participate in? Some contract that’s going to hit too close to home? As Dick’s mind goes a mile a minute, Slade finally unlocks the case and pulls out documents. 

He’s delicate and deliberately pulling the papers out slowly. 

“Here you go,” Slade says. 

Dick eyes Slade but then accepts the documents. He damn near drops them as he sees the first picture. 

“Is this recent?” Dick asks, completely shocked. 

“Taken this morning,” Luthor confirms pointing at the time stamp on the bottom right corner. 

Dick stares at the evil that helped take Damian away and starts to feel an odd sort of delight. Talia al Ghul’s in the United States. Dick recognizes the cars as American as she’s pictured walking down the street alone. 

After all the research and stealing data, there she was and it wasn’t because he found her. Slade and Luthor did. 

“Where?” Dick asks, trying to search the papers for the location. 

Slade smiles at him then and nods his head towards Luthor. “Care to elaborate?” 

Luthor pulls out a paper with a red tab in the corner from Dick’s grasp and sets it on the counter. “There’s a summit in Jump City hosted by Ms. al Ghul. For the past, I don’t know, maybe a year or so, she’s been laying low but it seems that she’s now ready to step back into the limelight.”

Dick’s face scrunches in irritation as he looks at Luthor. His eyes shift to Slade as he asks, “Jump City?” 

Slade nods his head with a smug smile plastered to his face. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

 _Of course it had to be Jump City,_ Dick thinks sullenly. The one place other than Gotham that Dick would do anything to avoid. 

“What’s the summit about?” he asks, swallowing the fear. 

“Something about leveling cities in the name of a greener planet,” Luthor responds cavalierly. 

Dick bites his lower lip as he reads the information in front of him. How did he miss this? Does this mean that the point of stealing the data and risking his behind was useless? Dick glances as Slade underneath his eyelashes in suspicion. 

“So why are you sharing this with us?” Dick asks.

Slade hits his arm, leaving a red mark. “Don’t be rude.” 

Dick covers his arm, his mouth becoming a fine line.

“Oh don’t hurt the boy Slade,” Luthor says, not really caring at all if Slade hit him. “I owe Slade here a few favors.”

Slade’s head tilts down at Dick. 

“Consider this one of them,” Luthor adds. He goes around the island and smiles at them both before leaving towards the door. 

As he puts his hand on the door handle, he turns around, a perplexed expression on his face. 

“I know where I’ve seen you before,” he says, staring at Dick. 

Coldness clenches Dick’s heart as he waits for Luthor to continue. 

“You’re one of Wayne’s boys.” Luthor’s eyes squint in amusement. 

Everything in Dick's stomach flips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, vacation time's over and I'm back! Thank you for all of your wonderful feedback, it fuels the motivation to write. Till next time!


	15. Fourteen

An obnoxious yawn is the first thing Jason hears when he wakes up. His eyes, heavy with sleep, pry open slowly as he glances at Roy next to him. After getting off the call with Starfire, Jason's ended up crammed into the back of a commercial airline with very little legroom. Roy’s outstretched arms graze his face. 

“Mornin’ Jaybird,” Roy says once he notices Jason’s glare. 

Jason closes his eyes again and then opens them wide, trying to shake off the exhaustion. 

“I miss private jets,” Jason complains, shoving Roy’s arm out of his space and looking around the cabin. A small child in front of him peers over the back of her seat and stares at him with large brown eyes. He smiles at her and gives a little wave.

Her mouth widens into a broad grin as she waves back. Her face suddenly changes and she sneezes, dousing Jason in a wet blanket of saliva and snot. Jason’s whole body clenches as he tries to keep quiet. He uses the back of his sleeve to wipe it off and catches Roy’s wide-eyed expression. 

Jason looks over at Roy and says, “Not a word.”

The child turns back around and as she does, Roy’s boisterous laughter fills the plane. 

“I really miss private jets,” Jason growls, quieting Roy with a pissed off glare. Roy still chuckles but at least everyone’s turned their attention back to their own devices. 

“You could’ve asked BW.”

Jason’s tone is noncommittal as he says, “Not an option.” 

Roy’s silent for a moment but gives a half-smile and says, “At least commercial flights are better for the environment.” 

Jason snorts softly and smiles. “True.” 

Overhead, the captain speaks. “We’ll be beginning our descent shortly so make sure those seatbacks and tray tables are in their upright and locked positions. We’ll be on the ground in about 15 minutes.” 

“Oh thank God,” Jason says, pressing the button on his chair and sitting straight upright. He’d drawn the short straw and was sitting wedged between Roy (at the window) and a middle-aged man in a suit. Wouldn’t be too terrible if the guy next to him understood the meaning of personal space. Suffice to say, Jason was ready to get off this plane. 

They descend quickly and get off the plane just as fast. As they walk through the airport, Jason opens and shuts his mouth repeatedly to dislodge the pressure in his ears. They get to baggage claim to pick up their weapons and as they do, Roy’s phone chimes. 

He shows Jason the text.

_Sent you a car – Kory_

“Kory?” 

Roy rolls his eyes. “Starfire.” 

“Dick never told me her actual name.” Jason shrugs and spots his case. He hoists it from the baggage carousel. The heavy weight of it is uncomfortable as they walk outside to the loading zone. 

Roy’s squinting at his phone and says, “She says the car’s waiting for us in front. Here’s the license plate.”

He hands his phone over to Jason and he reads over the combination of letters and numbers. Jason spots a plain black sedan with the matching plate and heads over. 

The engine’s running but there’s no one inside. Jason gives Roy an odd look but steps around to the back of the car and lifts the case into the trunk. Jason slides into the driver’s side and his hands hover over the wheel, not quite sure where to start. 

Before he can do anything, the car starts to accelerate and make turns on its own. 

“Did you know it could drive itself?” Jason asks, watching the car make a left turn onto the main road. 

“Yup,” Roy says. 

Jason just shakes his head. “Coulda told me.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The trip to Titan’s Tower goes relatively short and soon they’re pulling up to the extremely flamboyant building with blue-tinted windows in the shape of a giant T. Once upon a time, he used to dream of entering Titan’s Tower and becoming one of the team as Dick had done before him. But that was before the Joker beat the living shit out of him and he came back to life a little more angry and disillusioned with the superhero gig. 

They round the front of the building and pull into an underground garage. The car pulls into a parking spot and popping the trunk open before shutting off. 

Jason opens his door and retrieves his bag from the back. 

Roy heads over to the elevator and presses the button. Once they get into the elevator, Jason isn’t sure which floor to go to. 

“Top floor,” Roy says. “She’s waiting for us in the ops room.” 

The elevator speeds upwards once Jason selects the top floor. Jason’s hand twitches as the nerves settle in. For some reason, Starfire really intimidated him. Maybe it was the alien strength and flaming bright green balls of fire. 

The doors open up and Jason steps out into the large living room with glass windows the stretch from floor to ceiling. Starfire stands away from them, overlooking the ocean as it laps up against the rocks below. 

“Hey Kory,” Roy says. 

“Roy,” she says happily, turning away from the windows and flying over to greet him. She pulls him into a short embrace before releasing him and eyeing Jason. 

“Hey,” Jason tries, waving his hand awkwardly. 

“Jason,” she says, giving him a thin smile. 

“So where do you want to talk?” Jason says in an attempt to bypass the awkwardness of the situation. 

“We can talk here,” she says. “The rest of the Titans are on a mission. They’ll be back shortly but for now, we have our privacy.” 

“All right then.” Jason moves closer to the couches. “So what’s so important that we needed to come here?”

Kory bites her bottom lip and heads over to the monitor near the windows. “We had all agreed to keep what happened as quiet as possible. If anyone were to find out, both Robin's reputation and the Teen Titan's credibility will be destroyed."

Roy follows Kory and puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“I needed you both here to ensure that secret stayed buried,” she says, putting her own hand over Roy’s. 

“Tell us what exactly happened,” Jason says, crossing his arms and settling against the arm of the couch, keeping his distance. 

“Dick always had an intense interest in Slade and it turns out that Slade did too. Dick isolated us all in an attempt to get closer to him.” She pauses, pulling up a video of a costumed thief donning a white mask with a large red x on the forehead. “He created this persona as a way of communicating with Slade. But Slade knew exactly who he was and once Robin was forced to reveal himself to us, it created a rift.” 

Jason shakes his head. With how far he took it to bring Slade down, there's more of Batman in him than he realizes. Jason stands up slowly and stares up at the monitor. “So how’d he go from that to wearing Slade’s colors?”

Kory’s expression is as soft as Jason’s ever seen it and her vulnerability seeps out of her. “By using us, Slade forced Robin to serve as his apprentice.”

Jason stares at Kory, her face lost in memories of the past. 

“How?”

“Slade infected us with nanoscopic probes and threatened to kill us if Robin did not obey his every command.” Kory pulls up an image of the Titan’s bloodstreams where red blood cells are covered in small devices with Slade’s insignia. “We eventually found out and helped rescue him."

Jason points up at the image on screen. “Then why do you have these images?” 

“Robin kept them as a reminder of what Slade’s capable,” she explains. “And if people found out about what happened, we had full proof that his actions were not his own.” 

“Do you know why he would work with him now?” Roy asks, his eyes soft but inquisitive. 

“If he is working with Deathstroke willingly, then he is lost to us,” she says. “Is there a chance it could be coerced?” her large green eyes flit back and forth between the two men. 

“No,” Jason says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But we need your help to get him back.”

Her entire body language shifts and she stands up straighter and gives Jason an odd look. “I have not spoken to him in a long time, how could I help?” 

“If there’s even a chance we can bring him back, we need to take it. You may be our best shot,” Jason says and takes a few steps towards her. 

Her eyebrows draw together and she starts to type quickly on the expansive keyboard before her. Soon she has a video chat window up and Cyborg’s face is broadcasted, looking out at them.

“Hey Star, what’s up?” he smiles widely. His grin wavers when he peers at Jason and his face gets serious. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. Can you do me a favor and see if you can find Dick on any networks, cameras or anything?” she asks, her voice solemn but sweet. 

“Uh yeah give me a second.” The hesitation’s evident in his voice but he turns away. 

Roy leans into Kory and whispers, “Isn’t he with the Justice League now?” 

“He’ll always be a Titan at heart,” she answers and gives a small smile. 

For about five minutes, they stand there waiting for Cyborg to get back to them. Jason drums his fingers on the keyboard as they wait, trying to pass the time. 

“Hey Star?” Cyborg finally says. 

The three of them visibly perk up and Kory says, “Yes?”

“Dick’s in Jump City.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they finally got the full story! Stay tuned ;)


	16. Fifteen

While Dick’s gone through major life-changing events, everything in Jump City has remained exactly as he had left it. From the pizza shop with the pizza-sliced shaped rooftop to the Titan’s tower, everything remains. It even smells the same, the saltiness of the sea lingers and covers the stench of pollution, bringing Dick to memories he’d long forgotten.

As he sits on a rooftop adjacent from the hotel where Talia’s holding her summit, memories of more carefree times flash in front of him. City lights glitter around him, but his attention constantly draws towards the brightness of the tower.

“Renegade,” Slade snaps. “Pay attention.”

Dick pretends to stretch and mutters, “Sorry.”

Slade sighs and puts down the high-powered binoculars. “This is your mission, your vendetta. If you don’t care, why should I?” 

“I don’t know Slade, why do you care?” Dick retorts hotly. Being in Jump City’s upped the stakes, making Dick itch with anxiety that manifests itself in anger. “What’s in this for you?”

“Does it matter?” Slade asks calmly, tilting his head. 

“Yes,” Dick says firmly. 

Slade hums and shakes his head. “Shouldn’t avenging Damian matter more than any possible benefits on my behalf?” 

Dick's eyes harden and he crosses his arms. The air feels thick and humid as he glares at Slade. Slade, disregarding Dick, picks the binoculars back up and starts to scan the building. 

Dick presses his lips together tightly in resentment and just as he’s about to say something, Slade speaks. 

“The summit’s winding down,” Slade drops binoculars a few inches and makes eye contact with Dick. “She’ll be alone soon.” 

“How soon?”

“Patience,” Slade says, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’ll get your chance.”

From then on, nothing matters but staring at that hotel. Not Slade with the hidden agenda he no doubt has, not the Titan's being so close that they're drudging up old memories, nothing. Nothing matters but what he plans to do once he comes face-to-face with Talia. 

The chance to make her pay is so close. He closes his eyes and hears the young, hotheaded voice that’s been driving his purpose. 

“Make her pay.” 

His eyes burst open and his heart lurches forward as he looks out at their perch for Damian. He exhales deeply and feels the adrenaline drain from his body when only Slade’s with him. 

Slade drops his hands and stands up. “It’s time.”

Just like that, Dick’s back in the game. 

He turns around and picks up the line launchers. He hands one off to Slade and they both line up their shots so that they don’t pre-alert Talia to their presence by breaking any windows. 

“3... 2...” Slade says and glances at Dick. Dick nods and Slade says, “1.”

The launcher shoots out and attaches itself to the outside of the building. Once secure, they grab the handle and fly through the air. As the building quickly approaches, they kick out their legs and the glass shatters on impact. 

They soften their landing by rolling but they pop up quickly. In those few moments, Dick unsheathes his gun and scans the room. 

He spots her immediately. She’s sitting at the conference table with her hands clasped in her lap. Their abrupt arrival obviously hasn’t startled her because she’s made no moves to defend herself. 

“Talia,” Dick growls.

Her dark green eyes shine with recognition once he speaks and her lip twitches upward. “Richard Grayson, I didn’t recognize you in that outfit.” Her gaze flicks over to Slade. “And you’ve brought Deathstroke along with you. How nice.” 

Dick keeps his eyes locked on Talia as he takes another step forward. “Do you know why I’m here?”

Talia raises her chin slightly and stands up, putting her hands on the table and leaning forward. “I’m more curious as to why you’re here with _him_ ,” she jabs her thumb at Deathstroke, “instead of my beloved.” 

"I’m here because you killed your son," Dick spits out, using all of his anger to lace his words with hate. "Damian didn't deserve to die."

Talia straightens her back and moves her chair out of her way. “That was Heretic,” she says, looking bored. 

Dick takes a steep breath in. His hand shakes with anger and he clenches his jaw. “Heretic only existed because you cloned Damian.” 

“True,” she says, moving her head up and down slightly. “But I didn’t give the order to kill Damian. Heretic acted on his own accord. I loved my son.” 

"Bullshit," Dick says. "Damian was a means to manipulate Bruce to sway him to your side. And when Damian turned out to be more like Bruce than you, you decided he may as well die if he wouldn't step in line."

Talia's lip twitches upward. "That doesn't mean I didn't love him."

Deathstroke’s standing across the room from Dick, essentially cornering Talia at the head of the room. Deathstroke nods his head when Dick looks over at him and then taps his wrist. Their time’s limited and their window is closing quickly. 

“You're going to pay for what you've done Talia.” Dick raises his gun, his aim trained on her head.

She smiles then, her white teeth flashing him. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

Dick looks at Deathstroke from the corner of his eye, trying to judge if he knows something but then he senses the change in the air. He dives towards Talia as more glass breaks behind him. He grabs a fist full of her loose brown hair and pulls her close against him. 

He turns his head towards the windows and stares up at Starfire, Arsenal and Red Hood. Deathstroke fires a shot at Starfire, but she holds her arm up and disintegrates the bullet with a bright green starbolt. 

“I wouldn’t do that Slade,” she warns. “I’ve gotten a lot stronger.” 

Deathstroke’s eye narrows but he lowers his weapon. Dick pulls Talia closer and puts the gun to her head. 

“What are you doing here?” Dick asks, shaking his head. She’s looking at him curiously but there’s also a troubled element to her face. Talia’s grabbing his arm tucked underneath her chin but then she releases him and puts her hands up. 

“Here to save me perhaps?” Talia says.

“Oh trust me Talia,” Jason says, “We’re here for you too.” 

"What are you doing here?" Dick repeats, wishing above everything that she wasn't standing ten feet in front of him. 

Starfire ignores them both and says to Dick, “He filled me in.” She gestures to Talia and says, “Let her go.”

“I can’t do that,” he responds. 

She presses her lips together in a small frown. Her hair’s a good deal longer, Dick notices, it’s far past her waist but still as vibrant as ever. Just like the rest of Jump City, Dick thought that the next time he saw her that she would look the same. Deathstroke must sense that her presence is throwing him off because he whistles once to get his attention. 

Dick nods his head at Slade and starts to step towards him. He drags Talia along with him, but every step he takes is slow and deliberate. 

“This isn’t you,” she says, her voice sad. “Exacting revenge will not bring Damian back.” 

“She’s right,” Arsenal says, his bowstring loosening as he lowers his aim. 

Dick chuckles once and says, “You think I don’t know that?” He snorts and stops creeping towards Deathstroke. “But someone has to pay.” 

“Look I hate Talia too,” Jason speaks up. Dick feels Talia shift slightly. “But if you kill her, you’re just going to feel emptier. Trust me. I know what revenge killing does to a person.” 

Dick points the gun at Jason and says, “Get out of my way. I’ve shot you once. I’ll do it again.” 

"I believe you." Jason puts his hand on his thigh holster but stands his ground. 

“What’s your plan here?” Arsenal asks. “There’s no way you’re getting past us.” 

Deathstroke aims his gun at Talia and says, “One minute.” 

“There’s still a chance for you to come back Dick,” Jason says. “But if you do this, there’s no coming back.”

Starfire nods her head and adds, “You’re wearing Slade’s colors again. If you continue this path, you will never be able to take them off.” 

Everything in his body tells Dick to tell them they’re wrong, to scream at them that he’s doing the right thing, that he can come back from this… But he knows they’re right. He's giving up who he used to be for this, sacrificing a part of his soul for Damian. 

“If that’s the price I have to pay, then so be it,” Dick says, looking Kory directly in the eye. 

She lowers her head but comes up with her eyes blazing bright green. “Then we will have to stop you.” 

Her hand extends and a sudden bright green light flashes towards Deathstroke. He jumps out of the way and rolls forward, coming up fast as he fires his weapon towards her. 

Talia takes advantage and kicks her leg back at him and breaks free from Dick’s hold. He grabs out hastily but she slips through his fingers.

“Fuck,” he says to himself. He pulls out his gun, aiming for her back and fires. But as he does, an arrow comes flying at him, hitting his arm and screwing up the shot. The shot lands in her arm and she turns, looking at him with fury as her hand wraps around the injury and comes away slick with blood. 

Dick pulls the arrow out, his skin tearing as he does so and blood starts to trickle down his arm. He turns his head and sees Talia charging at him, her yell sounding strangled. She tries to knock his balance by kicking his knee but he backs up and then counterattacks by grabbing her hair and forcing her head down. 

He gets her back in a chokehold quickly and says to her, “Either you come with us and possibly live or get put in a maximum-security prison with them. Your choice.” 

Dick releases her and watches her clench her teeth. But she doesn’t run.

Sometime during the scuffle, Deathstroke must have dropped smoke bombs because it’s starting to get cloudier by the time Dick looks up to check on everyone’s locations. 

Starfire’s bright starbolts start emerging through the gray coverage so Dick dodges away while trying to keep Talia close. He spots Arsenal on the ground with a bloody face knocked out cold and sees Jason trudge towards him and Talia. 

“Let’s go,” he yells out to Deathstroke. 

Deathstroke dips to avoid a starbolt and nods. He turns and jumps out of the window. Starfire starts to fly after him but Dick fires a line that secures itself around her ankles and then drags her to the ground. Her body smashes hard against the floor and she grunts, turning her attention towards him. 

Jason charges towards him but Talia comes from the side and tackles him to the ground. Starfire’s burned the line off her feet and flies towards him. In a desperate move, Dick throws an explosive disk at her. It explodes when it hits her and her body flies into the back wall. She’s not out yet but that explosion was enough to stall her. 

Jason kicks Talia in the face and a sickening crack sounds out. Talia spits out blood and Jason wiggles out of her grasp, aiming for Dick. 

“I don’t have time for this Jason,” Dick yells. He turns to the window and spots their getaway. The helicopter hovers right outside and Dick spots Deathstroke in the open door yelling something at him. 

Dick reaches into his belt and pulls out his stun gun. He fires it and Jason dodges but once he’s an arm’s length away, Dick hits him. The electricity makes Jason dance wildly but he’s still up and closing the distance quickly. 

Talia’s bloody face appears a few feet behind Jason. She jumps onto him and twists her legs around his neck throwing off his balance and bringing him to the floor. She pins him and Dick runs up to kick his head. A piece of his red helmet flies off and he stops struggling beneath her. Talia gets up and then spits at him, blood still dripping from her mouth. 

“Let’s go,” she says to him, running and making the jump between the building and the helicopter. 

Dick takes one more look at Kory, who opens an eye and stares back. 

He doesn't say anything and turns away, following Talia into the helicopter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for getting this out a bit late, this chapter was surprisingly difficult to write (despite the fact I've had this planned out since the beginning). 
> 
> If you enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment ;)


	17. Sixteen

Looking at her, an average person wouldn’t guess that she could kill them about fifty different ways. 

Her nose, narrow and straight, sits right under deep-set eyes. Her angular jawline, now covered in dried blood, mixed with her thin lips paint her as an above-average beauty. Even with her hair sticking in several directions and a violet bruise blossoming underneath her chin, she’s beautiful. 

He’d spent a lot of time over the past few months obsessing over her, staring at her picture while all-consuming hate washed over him. Looking at her now, the same anger rose out of him. 

She’s sitting in one of the seats near the back with her arms crossed, eyeing him right back. Near the front of the large space of the helicopter, he’s standing with Slade talking in hushed voices. 

“Why did you bring her along with us?” Slade asks. Slade hasn't taken off the mask, making it difficult to hear his whispers. 

Dick wishes he would take that off. He’d like to be able to read his expression. “I couldn’t kill her there.”

“And why not?” Slade crosses his arms, his blue eye hinting at his displeasure. 

“It’d be too quick,” Dick reasons, avoiding Slade's eye. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for so long and I didn’t want to do it in front of them.”

“Because you still care for them?” Slade accuses.

“That’s not—“ He stops talking, pursing his lips. The question's a trap and he nearly fell for it. Dick tries again and says, “They were a distraction. The kill would have been sloppy and rushed.”

“You are aware that I can hear you,” Talia calls out. 

Dick’s eyes find the ceiling as he says, “We’re aware. We just don’t care.” 

He looks back at her to catch an eye roll of her own. Slade grabs Dick’s arm and turns him towards him. 

Slade leans in and whispers, “She’ll have people coming after her. You best get it done now.” 

Dick nods his head once and starts walking towards Talia. Every step he takes, he pictures Damian more vividly. While Damian is a dead ringer of Bruce as a child, he notices the bit of Damian in Talia’s face. Their eyes are the exact same shade of forest green. 

She doesn’t look afraid, or even concerned at the fact that he’s approaching her. Instead she says, “We can help each other Grayson.” 

“I don’t need help from you,” he says, his hands itching to wrap themselves around her neck.

She raises a sly eyebrow. “That’s where you’re wrong.” 

Dick pulls out a sword from its sheath behind him. He points the blade at her, its sharp edge millimeters away from her throat. 

“You kill me now, you’ll never find my father,” she says quickly, but without panic.

“I found you easily enough,” he lies. Tracking her down was next to impossible, but Talia doesn’t need to know that. 

She smiles and throws him a knowing look. But she doesn’t call out his lie. 

“Put the sword down Grayson,” she orders, quickly glancing downward and back. “Let’s help each other.” 

Slade comes over then and says, “She can’t help us.” 

Her smile grows, but it’s not joyous, it’s the smile of someone with a new angle. 

“I’ll admit Deathstroke, your plan is pretty genius,” she gloats. 

Dick lowers the sword, not completely dropping it, but no longer aiming it at her throat. He keeps an eye on her but moves to include Slade in his view. 

Damn that mask. Dick only has body language to go off on at this point, and it’s not telling him much. Slade doesn’t look defensive. He seems quite relaxed all things considered. But that could be an act. 

“What’s she talking about,” Dick asks, keeping his tone level. 

“He doesn’t even know,” Talia says, her smile looking more malicious as the conversation progresses. “As I said, genius.” 

Slade looks at Dick and says, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

“Tell me,” Dick demands to either Slade or Talia. 

It’s Talia who answers. 

“Deathstroke has made a show of you. He wants you to encounter your friends and flaunt you as his apprentice.” She drapes one leg over the other. “Why else confront me in Jump City of all places?”

Dick starts shaking his head. “It wasn’t Slade who knew you’d be there.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she begins, her head tilting slightly. “But still, an odd coincidence. Don’t you think?”

Dick purses his lips, trying to decide how to respond. If she plans to distract him, it’s working. 

Dick's curiosity outweighs everything so he asks, "Even so, what does my presence change anything?"

"Haven't you been paying attention?" She asks, her derisive smile adding fuel to Dick's anger. "If Slade can turn Batman's protégé, he can turn anyone. And you can never go back to being a hero, cementing your position as his."

It's not that Dick didn't think of this himself, he had. But hearing Talia speak it aloud, confirming what he knew deep inside to be true, was throwing him for a loop. The thing is, Dick didn't care. All he cared about was avenging Damian. His self-worth be damned. 

“Quit toying with him Talia,” Slade says. 

“Am I stepping on your toes _Slade_?” Talia drawls out his name, a brazen expression on her face. “I’m sure that’s not all you have planned for him.”

Tired of feeling played with, Dick raises his sword back to her neck. "Your time’s up Talia.” 

Her gaze switches back to him and he’s hit again with a nostalgic longing to see Damian’s face. He wants to end this, end her. He can deal with Slade’s manipulations later. He has all the time in the world for that. He swings the sword to the side and before he can make contact with her carotid, she speaks. 

“I can tell you exactly where my father is.” 

Dick’s grip on the hilt tightens considerably. As he feels his heart racing, he tries to gather his thoughts. Will the need for revenge sway him to kill her now, or will it help him focus on the bigger target? His program has been able to spot Talia here and there, but he’s never gotten a hit on Ra’s al Ghul. Not while he’s still the leader of the League of Shadows, aka one of the most elite group of assassin’s Dick’s ever come across. 

“How would you know if you left the Shadows to start Leviathan? Ra’s disowned you.” Dick asks, deciding to table his hate for her at the moment. 

Talia looks up and shakes her head, making Dick feel like a chastised child asking dumb questions. “He’s my father – and competitor – of course I’d know where he is.” 

Dick sheathes the sword and takes a few steps back, crossing his arms in contempt. “Looks like you’re working an angle here too, Talia.” 

Slade finally removes his mask, his hair matted in some places and sticking up in others. He smooths it down and then takes a look at Dick. He stays silent, letting Dick take the lead. Looks like Slade wants to know Talia’s plan just as much as he does. 

Talia’s face remains passive, her poker face holding strong. 

“You want to take over the League of Shadows, don’t you Talia?” Dick asks, his own knowing smirk appearing. 

Her eyes narrow slightly. “I just don’t want to die. I lead you to him, you back off and let me go. For good.” 

“For good?” Dick repeats, mulling it over in his mind. Talia nods once. 

Slade steps closer to Dick and says into his ear, “Kill her and be done with it.” 

Dick clenches his teeth and breathes slowly from his nose. He closes his eyes, the brief moment of darkness separating himself from his surroundings. He continues to breathe, five seconds in and five seconds out. 

He opens his eyes, bringing him back to the present. They’re both looking at him, one expression curious and the other displeased. 

It’s clear what he must do. 

“No,” he responds. He steps past Slade and holds out his hand. “Deal.”

She reaches out, her slender hand grasping his gloved hand. “Deal,” she repeats.

Slade shakes his head and mutters, “You better know what you’re doing Dick.”

Slade turns away and heads towards the cockpit, leaving Dick and Talia looking at each other. A familiar wave of distrust flows through him, but he shoulders it and goes back to the front and sits down. 

He’ll shelve whatever animosity he’s harboring for Talia. Not all of it, but enough to focus on the end goal. Once she leads him to Ra’s, all bets are off.

~~~ 

Slade separates himself from Talia and Dick, leaving behind the thick hostility behind him. He sits in the empty co-pilot's seat and leans back, his lips tugging into a triumphant smile.

"I take it everything's going well?" Wintergreen asks beside him. 

Slade eyes Wintergreen in the pilot's seat and says, "Exactly as planned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback, I appreciate it all ❤️


	18. Seventeen

“Blindfold her,” Slade orders, emerging from the cockpit with a less than enthusiastic look on his face. “We don’t need her figuring out where we are.” 

Dick looks around and asks (with a hint of sarcasm), “With what?”

It’s not like they had a supply of blindfolds and gags along with them. Taking a prisoner – especially Talia – wasn’t the plan. 

Slade looks at him pointedly and says, “Be creative.” 

“Alright then,” Dick says quietly to himself. He gets up from his seat and takes a quick look around the back of the helicopter. It’s not an incredibly big space. It’s maybe the size of a small bedroom, so there aren’t a lot of places to search. 

He opens a small cabinet by the front. Cluttered with random objects, he sifts through them and eventually spots a small roll of gauze. He plucks it out of the crowded cabinet and as he does, a large piece of fabric falls to the ground. 

He sighs and catches a glimpse of Talia, watching him curiously. He bends down to get the cloth, running the rough material between his fingers. As funny a sight Talia’s head wrapped with gauze would have been, this is more practical and probably more irritating against her skin. 

Talia scoffs. 

With the cloth in his right hand, he stands up, drops the gauze and approaches her. 

Dick remains silent and folds the fabric in half to ensure that she wouldn’t be able to see through it. 

“A blindfold’s not necessary,” Talia says. “Working together, remember?”

Dick remains impassive and tries to block her out. He kneels to get closer so he can put the blindfold on. As he reaches up to secure it around her head, her fingers brush his forearm, igniting an intense chill throughout his arm. 

He tears his arm away as if her hand had been a branding iron. 

“Don’t touch me,” he grumbles, trying to remain unemotional. 

She brings her hand back, her fingers spreading as a sign that she’d back off. Dick looks up at her heatedly and finds that she’s no longer smiling. Which is surprising considering that during their prior conversation, that smug smirk of hers hadn’t left her face. 

“Hurry up,” Deathstroke calls out impatiently. “We’re almost there.” 

He brings the blindfold to her face again and this time her hand remains on her lap. His fingers fumble as he reaches his hands around to secure the back. He can’t be sure if it’s his desire to kill her or the awkwardness of their proximity, but there’s no doubt in his mind that he wants to get the hell out of this helicopter. 

Just then, he feels the helicopter stop as it hovers above the landing pad. It descends slowly and connects with the pad with a small jolt. 

Slade passes them and presses a button to lower the back hatch. As it groans open, fresh air reaches Dick and he takes a deep breath in. Their ride hadn’t been long, maybe a few hours at most, but Dick’s need for a breather was at an all-time high. 

Wintergreen steps into Dick’s view and nods his head inquisitively at Talia. Dick shrugs a shoulder and tells her, “Get up.”

Talia gets up and takes a few steps forward. “Since I can’t see, you’ll have to lead me.”

Slade and Wintergreen both observe him quietly before getting off, leaving him to deal with her. He grabs his gun from his holster and cocks it close to her ear. “In case you thought of running.” 

“Really, Grayson?” She asks, amusement coloring her tone. 

“Yup.” Reluctantly, he takes hold of her left arm with his free hand and uses his other to point the gun at the base of her spine. Even if it’s a forceful hold, touching her feels vile. 

He prods her forward with his gun and she starts walking towards the opening. She steps lightly, barely leaving a sound as she goes. Once the brightness of outside has dimmed down and his eyes adjust, he notes the pine trees and the slight view of mountain tops. 

They must be somewhere near Lake Tahoe.

The pad they landed on is a large concrete circle in a grassy area around the size of a soccer field. Slade and Wintergreen are up ahead, walking towards the tree line. Slade’s never taken him here, so he follows behind. With limited places she could escape to, Dick relaxes his grip on Talia. 

His mind wanders to the large helicopter sitting out in the open but when he looks back, it’s disappeared from view, along with the pad. 

He shrugs it off, citing cloaking technology as an explanation. 

The trees soon swallow Slade and Wintergreen but they’re not too far behind. As they enter the wooded area, Dick removes Talia’s blindfold. Up ahead, he spies the other men entering a small mountain home. 

The house's exterior is covered in brown wood paneling and expansive upper windows, but there isn’t much else to look at, creating an unremarkable impression. 

“There’s nowhere to escape to,” he explains, putting the safety on and sheathing his gun. “You can walk yourself from here.” 

“Finally.” Talia threads her hands through her hair, shaking her dark hair out as she continues to walk forward. “Honestly Grayson, if you expect me to lead you to my father I’d appreciate a little trust.” 

Dick laughs, his unnerving chuckle causing Talia to stare back at him in annoyance. “I’d never trust a woman that would kill her own son.” 

Talia pauses, so Dick passes her brusquely and continues walking towards the front steps. Behind him, he evenutally hears Talia following, her normal light gait thwarted by the pine needles and leaves. 

Thankfully the door’s been left open for them. He lets Talia pass him, keeping his eye on her as she goes inside. 

He follows, closing the door behind him. As ordinary as the outside was, the inside is just as dreary – if not more. It’s hardly furnished. There’s one brown leather couch sitting in the middle of the room and it seems as though the living room and kitchen are one room. There’s a stove, a few cabinets and a sink. 

Talia’s nose is scrunched in disgust as she runs a finger along the stair's railing, a clear line leaving itself in the dust. 

Slade’s stands by the fireplace at the far left wall, but Wintergreen’s nowhere to be seen. 

“You took off her blindfold,” Slade states, his voice uninterested. 

“This is it?” Dick asks, poking his head around Talia to catch a glimpse of upstairs. “No secret high tech work area?”

Slade looks at him sideways. “Not every property’s outfitted like that.” 

“So why are we here then?” Dick asks, approaching Slade warily. At this point, there’s a certain level of exhaustion asking Slade to explain himself, yet here Dick is. 

“We needed to bring her somewhere disposable,” Slade replies. “I sent Will out to get the equipment needed.” 

Talia’s still wandering around, picking up anything and everything not attached to the walls and inspecting them with indifference. “Smart,” she says, moving from the kitchen area and takes a seat on the leather couch. “Let’s hope he hurries.” 

Dick crosses his arms, tucking his hands underneath but leaving his thumbs exposed. “How long will he be?”

Instead of responding with an approximate time, Slade says, “Just keep yourself occupied.” 

Since Talia’s posted herself on the couch, Dick goes to the stairs and sits on the bottom step. He opens his legs wide, setting his forearms on his thighs and joining his hands together. And he sits there, watching Talia through the banister slats until Wintergreen opens the front door two hours later. 

No light enters the house when he does; only the porch lamp illuminating his face. 

“It’s all set up,” Wintergreen announces. 

Slade, having remained by the fireplace this whole time, nods his head and heads outside. Dick and Talia stand up simultaneously and follow him. Slade leads them around the corner of the house and a few hundred feet ahead, Dick spots a medium-sized shed. 

Wintergreen holds open the door for the three of them but doesn’t continue with them inside. 

The door shuts behind them and for a moment, they’re standing in a pitch-black room. But then, a flick of light and the room illuminates with an all too bright light. Dick squints and then notices the large computer screen and desk. There’s a world map set up along the left wall, a large computer screen and desk decorate the wall in front of them and then there’s another computer by the right wall – albeit this one being three times smaller than the other. 

“All right Talia,” Dick says, trying to hide his excitement. “Where’s Ra’s?” 

Talia flashes an insincere smile. “Ask nicely.”

Slade, staring Talia down, says, “Just tell us.”

Talia opens her mouth slightly, her tongue running along the bottom of her upper molars. After being under her father’s thumb for so many years, it must be undermining to take orders again. Her eyes narrow but after a short pause, she acquiesces and says, “Start the computer, open your mapping software and I’ll _show_ you.”

Slade gives Dick a look. Dick goes to the computer and shakes the mouse, waking it up. 

The screen switches to the login page and after turning back to ensure Talia’s eyes were somewhere else, he enters in his username and password, bringing him to the desktop screen. There’s no seat, so he’s hunching slightly to reach the keyboard. 

Talia comes up behind him. Her hair brushes the side of his face, tickling his ear. He flinches away from her and side steps. Once he has maps open, Talia bumps him aside with her hip and starts typing in latitude and longitude coordinates. 

Dick’s shoulders tense as his tolerance for her disintegrates at an alarming rate. Just as his fingers curls into a fist, she steps back and says, “There.” 

His now relaxed hand pushes Talia to the side as he reads the coordinates. She doesn’t stumble so much as slides over, watching him obsess over Ra’s location. 

“We’ve got the location,” he breathes out. Forgetting where – and who he’s with – Dick stands up and grabs Slade, “We know where Ra’s is.” 

Slade, somewhat amused, removes Dick’s hands and says, “Now we need a plan.” 

Dick steps back, a bit embarrassed. The feeling doesn’t last long as he faces the computer and commits the coordinates to memory. 

Dick’s grins as he says, “Then let’s come up with a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, definitely a filler chapter. But worry not, things are about to go off. Till next time!
> 
> p.s. sorry for delayed responses to comments, I love love and appreciate all of your input! <3


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